


Frigid Immortals

by Ladyjenwen84



Series: Frigid Immortals Trilogy [1]
Category: Loki - Fandom, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Asgard, Asgard (Marvel), Asgardian Loki, BAMF Loki, BAMF Sigyn, Canon Divergence - Pre-Thor (2011), Canon Divergence - Thor (2011), Dark Fantasy, Dark Magic, Drama & Romance, F/M, Frigga Feels, Good Loki, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, King Loki, Language, Loki Angst, Loki Feels, Loki's Kids, Loki-centric, Marvel Norse Lore, Minor Sif/Thor (Marvel), Moral Ambiguity, Non-canon characterization, Odin's Bad Parenting, Pre-Thor (2011), Protective Thor, Sexual Content, Thor is not a hero, Thor is not a villain either, Vanaheimr | Vanaheim, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-02-23 02:35:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 62,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2530847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyjenwen84/pseuds/Ladyjenwen84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sigyn, a fire wielding Vanir, comes to Asgard as Queen Frigga's student of sorcery.  There she meets the man for whom she's been searching unaware.  Loki.  The Dark prince.  The God of Mischief.  The trickster.  The greatest sorcerer in the nine realms.  He'd been searching, too.  He just hadn't known it until he met her during the coldest winter of his life.  Matching dark hearts, she is the fire to his ice, but darkness fades with the dawn.  Sadly, dawn isn't come by so easily.  Arrogant siblings, terrible parents, trolls, frost giants, war, betrayal, pain, loneliness, even death itself...they'll face it all together, and the gods willing, find their way into the light before it kills them both, taking all of Asgard down with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> FYI:
> 
> I just want to emphasize that this trilogy has a good deal of canon divergence and other than some plot points taken from the films it is basically an AU story. Loki will not be a villain. Thor will not be a hero. They both have their own moments of heroism, and both make some terrible decisions. Also, this Sigyn is entirely of my own making (other than the name obviously). Point is, every character is flawed. Every character has his/her strengths and weaknesses, and redemption is ALWAYS a possibility. Canon characters, especially those from the Marvel films, will not behave exactly as you might expect. Very few characters in the entire trilogy are truly what I would call “villains”, and they will not even make an appearance until the second novel. I say all this simply to avoid wasting anyone’s time who doesn’t care for AU or canon divergence. If that is you, my dear reader, I genuinely wish you well and hope you’ll find another fic that suits your needs/interests better. If not, hope you enjoy this trilogy.
> 
> P.S. This is my first fic and is non-beta'd, so it won't be perfect in all the ways I'd like it to be, but I assure you that I edit each chapter to death. What you read will be my best effort. And though I won't be able to update weekly or even monthly (life can get terribly busy), I give you my word that I will see this trilogy through to the end.
> 
> ***DISCLAIMER***  
> I do not own Loki (as much as I want to) or any other Marvel characters. Absolutely no copyright infringement intended. Rated M for language, sexual content, violence, and adult themes. Begins pre-Thor(2011)

_~Prologue~_

 

Asgard is the realm eternal, home of the gods, the shining city in the heart of the world tree which houses the nine realms of the universe.  Unlike the mortal realm, daylight shines from an unknown source and seasons are five human decades long.  King Odin Allfather rules Asgard alongside his queen, Frigga.  They have two sons. Thor and Loki.  The citizens call them the ' _golden son_ ' and the ' _dark son_.' But gold loses its luster over time.  And darkness fades with the dawn.

 

 

* * *

 

The eldest son of Odin, Prince Thor, roared as he spotted his younger sibling in the queen's garden manhandling a golden-haired girl, perhaps a few years his junior. 

"Brother!"

Thor had been roaming the aged bronze halls of the palace, passing the time, reduced to boredom, whilst his warrior friends were in the training grounds.  His reputation for usurping a fight, for brandishing his famed weapon, the mighty hammer Mjolnir, and leaving no room for the other soldiers to partake in the battle as he slayed the enemy, had him suspended from training for a week.  His close friend and sister in arms, Sif, had warned him of his arrogance and how it would gain him such a suspension.  Yet he had not heeded her words and found himself spending the majority of his time searching out his brother who trained more with hefty books than with metal weaponry.  The younger of the two was known for his mischievous ways and the trickery amused Thor to no end, despite his claiming to be above it. Watching his brother pull pranks was the best medicine for a week of drollery without practiced battles.

He pulled his blood red cloak tighter around his broad intimidating frame as a cold wind shot through the pillared hall.  His long thick blond waves whipped around his bearded face, piercing aqua eyes shutting hastily to avoid the burning sensation from the frozen gust.  The torches were nearly snuffed out from the effect, and he rubbed his hands together and blew his hot breath into them.

Mjolnir swung at his belt, never leaving his side.  He favored his royal blue and silver breast plate and heavy armor over the crimson tunic, navy leather jacket, breeches, and black boots that he was currently sporting, but the armor was rather pointless if he wasn't joining the others in their fake fight.  He scowled at the thought of surviving a week doing anything other than spending the daylight hours slamming fists and showing the Asgardian army just how mighty he truly was.

The sound of girlish giggling and squeals of delight from the icy garden a story below the open balcony had caught his attention and, curiosity taking over, he'd stepped as gingerly as was possible in his huge muscled body, to the ledge and peered over, not entirely _intending_  voyeurism.  He frowned at the sight of his brother wrapped up in the arms of an attractive young woman.  They were caught up in a passionate kiss.  His hands roamed underneath her thick yellow cloak while she pulled at his fur covered shoulders and straight raven locks.  He was bent over her small frame.  Their height difference was almost comical to Thor.  His brother's sinewy body looked as though it would break from the stretch down and she was on her tip toes, standing on his boots craning her neck to reach his mouth.

The second prince of Asgard was not as tall as Thor but his six foot two body still towered over many of the citizens.  His frame was strong but much leaner than that of the blond warrior whose bulging muscles caused most females, and some  _males_ , to blush deep scarlet and all but beg to be bedded.  The younger was acclaimed, albeit in a rather negative manner, as a master sorcerer and his intellect was far beyond that of their peers.  Like Thor, he was also a fully capable fighter, able to hold his own in any battle, and both brothers had already seen their fair share of fights, often with each other as is typical with siblings.  However, rather than throwing himself into the middle of the fight and swinging punches and risking deadly blows to himself, the second son preferred his throwing knives or a small silver dagger. His aim was impeccable.  Every shot landed with precision.  He moved with grace, twisting and contorting his body with the physical prowess of a cat, rather than roaring and stomping and head-butting as a bear would. His magic had proven useful many times, casting illusions of himself and confusing his adversaries.  He was lithe and intimidating, but it was never enough to best Thor.  The golden prince was the warrior.  The dark prince was the trickster. The warrior would always win, in the end, and the darker son was supremely envious for it.

Thor called again and was ignored  _again_.  " _Brother!_ "

At the sound of Thor's booming voice, the girl made to pull away from his brother, but the younger son pulled her back against his taut frame, shrouding her in his black leather and fur shouldered coat.  

Thor's deep growl rang in his ears. " _Loki!_  Have you gone  _deaf_ , brother?!"

Loki released the girl and with a wink and charming smile, he kissed her hand and waved her off.  Shooting Thor a glare, the girl sauntered away, andLoki tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, hair ruffling with the icy breeze, as he watched her before spinning on his heel to face Thor, a smirk spreading across his handsome face.

His skin tone was very fair. Some would say it was too fair...pale even.  It was made more so by the contrast to his black chin length hair. His cheekbones were sharp and high, and his jaw was just as sharp and angular. Not classically squared like Thor's, said jaw connected to a long gracefully veined throat. His eyes were emerald green, and his nose was straight and thin. His lips were thin as well. Everything about him was  _thin_ , but lean, and strong.  

Smirk still displayed across his face, he bowed his head but kept his eyes on his brother. "Ah,  _Thor!_  I could not hear you over the sound of my lady's pounding heart and utterly devastating moans of pleasure. Forgive me." 

Thor laughed and rocked his pelvis into an imaginary pair of hips. "Is that so? She was so much louder in my chambers last night!" 

Loki rolled his eyes.  He knew it was meant as a jest, but it irritated him nonetheless.  He may not have been the warrior prince like his brother, but women did not want warriors in bed.  They wanted a pair of narrow hips and long fingers and a talented tongue.  All of which he had in _abundance_.  He wanted to shout that the girl had been busy removing his breeches in  _his_  chambers the night before but decided it wasn't worth the effort.  The girl was of no great import.  Just another bedmateーone of many in a long line for hundreds of years.  Another attractive face to satiate one of the more carnal desires of his body.  Something to pass the time, really.  

Eyes narrowed, voice deep and velvet, he hissed. "How odd.  You must be thinking of one of your hideous over-stuffed whores." 

Hearing Thor's heavy footsteps backing away from the ledge, he turned to look at the bifrost which still shimmered as a prism despite the low frozen grey clouds.  The cold felt natural to Loki, and he closed his eyes as a pleasurably icy gust tossed his hair about his neck.  Since he could remember, Asgard's constant warmth seemed to suffocate him.  It never seemed to bother anyone else.  The bright gleaming golden city was always blooming with flowers and exotic plant life because of the pleasant weather.  A warm breeze always floated through the air, and despite the heavy leather attire and long dresses which seemed to cause a sheen of sweat on most everyone, they seemed content with the heat.  It confounded him.  Footsteps behind him took him from his musings.

"I only  _jest_ , brother." Thor had softened his tone.  

Loki continued to stare at the cosmos. "Yes, I'm well aware of your comic  _prowess_."  

Bitter envy aside, he loved his brother.  Love and hate were two sides of the same coin, after all.  Sighing heavily, his proud posture slumped.  

Thor clapped his hand on his baby brother's shoulder. "Cease your  _brooding,_  Loki.  I am painfully bored.  Is it not your greatest desire to entertain me in my doldrums?" 

His words pulled a low chuckle from Loki. "Thor, as much as your  _painful_  boredom injures me to the very core, I'm afraid I have been called to the training ground this evening.  It seems that Father wants to spare you from my... _corruption_.  Do accept my most sincere apologies."

He bowed from the hip and swept back up with theatrics akin to a circus performer, and backing away with a frown and clasped hands, he left Thor standing in the frosty garden.  Frowning, Thor walked with heavy steps back into the warmth of the palace.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Loki strolled to his chambers to change into his armor.  He didn't care to train with Thor's friends.  Stunningly  _beautiful_  Sif had been given the title ' _Goddess of War'_  by the Allfather a century prior and had become, despite said beauty, ruthlessly obnoxious with arrogance since.  Her double bladed sword was impressive and intimidating to the other soldiers.  All Loki saw when he watched her fight was the female version of his big brother—beautiful, favored, and loved by all.

Their skills were limited to fighting and binge drinking and slurring poorly thought out insults during both.  Volstagg, Hogun, and Fandral were Thor's other friends—the _'Warriors Three,'_ they'd arrogantly named themselves.  As though there were only three great warriors in all of Asgard.  Preposterous.  Famous for their many victories in battle, they, along with Sif, created a bloodthirsty and intellectually stunted foursome.  They were skilled Warriors, thus their name, but they seemed to think that each and every argument could and should only be won by who had the bigger weapon.  Everything was a pissing contest to them.  Loki hated training with them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Volstagg's thick voice echoed so that all the soldiers turned to see. "Look!"  

He pointed at Loki as he descended the stone steps from the upper level to the training grounds. "Silvertongue has come for a fight! Perhaps he brought his  _books_  to fight with!"

Thor's friends laughed boisterously, but the rest of the men resumed their fighting.  It was well-known that Loki had a dangerous temper, and with a flick of his wrist, his sorcery was capable of producing as much and more pain than the four warriors' weapons combined.  The only reason he hadn't killed Thor's friends was because they were  _Thor's_ friends, and Loki had no desire to face off with Mjolnir.  That was one fight he was sure to lose.  They imagined Loki to be weak because his armor didn't strain over his biceps the way his brother's did.  Their insults _did_ bother him, but he knew that their blindness to his talents was an advantage for him, so he didn't bother much with retaliation.  However, he was in no mood for their verbal jabs today.  He launched a dagger at Volstagg's nearly seven foot body, and it sliced through the thin skin of his cheek.  Dark crimson blood streamed out of the wound, and Volstagg looked genuinely stunned as he touched his face and drew his hand away, fingers smeared with red.  Loki chuckled at the shocked faces of his brother's favored in spite of himself.  He hadn't meant to resort to actual violence.  Training didn't usually involve gaping wounds, but Volstagg's comment and his earlier encounter with Thor and his lust-filled veins as of late, had him craving blood.

Álfar, the head trainer, approached him with reserve as the training continued. "Your Highnessー"

Álfar cleared his throat as Loki swiped his hair out of his still clean face. "You are spot on with your dagger skills.  I honestly don't know how you do it.  It's impressive, to say the _least."_

Loki glared at the instructor.  Why he desired to twist the man's arm until it broke, he knew not.  He needed to calm down.  Álfar was giving him a  _compliment_  for Hel's sake.  

Responding smugly, shifting his gaze away from the other man, Loki smirked at Sif who was watching him carefully with steely eyes. "I know." 

The head trainer continued. "However, I see that tonight you are perhaps a bit more war hungry than usual.  We are only  _training_ , Your Highness.  We do not seek to wound our fellow countryman. They are our  _brothers_  in arms, after all."

Loki smiled, seeing a convenient escape from the ridiculous and _pointless_ sparring that his father was forcing him into. "I fear I may have lost my composure due to an earlier conflict.  I believe it is best that I take my leave."

He bowed his head slightly to the head trainer who returned the gesture and covered his heart with his right fist. "Prince Loki."

Winking at Sif, he kissed the air in her direction.  Grinning, thoroughly pleased with himself, he gracefully ascended the stairs taking three steps at a time. He was relieved to leave the arena.  His presence had been requested in the throne room later anyhow.  Supposedly a _foreign_  female guest was to arrive that night, and he was anxious to meet her for he was becoming quite bored with bashful, innocent, and decidedly _unadventurous_ Asgardian women.  Maybe this newcomer would be something altogether different.  He hoped so.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

Odin's curt voice echoed throughout the golden hall as he stood from his throne. "What does Freya of our sister realm, Vanaheim, call for?" 

Queen Frigga descended the throne steps and meeting her  _many times_  removed sister at the base of the dais, opened her arms wide and embraced her.  

Freya chimed, her tone rather melodramatic. "Frigga, dearest!" 

The women held each other as though they had not seen the other for an age.  Freya was the Goddess of Fertility and was as fair and golden as Frigga.  She resided in Vanaheim, the only other realm, of which there were nine, that housed gods and goddesses.  Her nine daughters lived with her, and she did not call often.

Stepping down a few stairs, Odin snapped at them. "Ladies, visit later. Freya, state your business with Asgard." 

The women approached him, and Frigga looked to her sons who stood on either side of Odin.  Thor displayed a huge smile at the  _stunning_  young woman who trailed behind his mother and Freya, and Loki lifted his chin and looked on curiously.

"Greetings, Allfather!  Princes Thor and Loki!  My goodness how you've grown into such  _handsome_  young men!"

Freya had a way of flattering men of all ages, naturally.  Goddess of Fertility and thusly  _sex_ , she was.  Frigga cleared her throat and rolled her eyes as she climbed the dais to stand near her youngest.  Loki sighed and followed suit, rolling his eyes as well at Freya's blatant flirting with men less than half her age.  An exasperated huff came from the young woman behind the sex goddess, at the sound of annoyance behind her, Freya twisted her head on her shoulders and glared at the dark haired woman causing her to lower her gaze and shrink into herself.  

Odin stood taller, peering at her out of his one good eye, the other having been lost during a great war with Jotunheim many centuries ago now covered with a golden metal patch. " _Freya_ , I say again, state your business." 

Bowing low, exposing an unnecessary amount of cleavage, Freya responded. "Allfather, I come to make a formal request to Queen Frigga concerning the studies of my youngest.  I present to you Sigyn of Vanaheim."

Hearing her name spoken, the woman behind her stepped forward and bowed respectfully. "Your majesty."

She was not as tall as Asgardian women.  Long sleek black hair hung in waves just below her shoulder blades.  Her frame was small with little wrists and hands, nails painted black, which were clasped in front of her.  Her face was symmetrical and heart shaped with a pointed chin and grey green eyes the color of a storm blown sea framed by long black lashes.  She held a stoic expression, relaxed despite standing before the throne.  Her skin was not golden like her mother's, but very fair.  Truly, she looked _nothing_ like her mother.  Her dress was the color of charcoal, slightly iridescent, turning black as she shifted her stance.  Sheer long black sleeves wrapped tightly around her toned arms.  The daringly low collar elicited appreciative stares from both Thor and Loki.

Thor started when he realized she was glaring at him in response to his ogling, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, lips pursed, hollowing her cheekbones before she returned her attention to Odin.  Loki bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing at the annoyed look she'd aimed at his brother.

Eyeing her through thin slits of emerald eyes, he took in her entire formーpetite but strong.  To him, everything about her was just... _perfect_.

 _Sigyn_.  He loved the name instantly.  He hoped she would love his equally.  He wanted to hear her say it.  Interest piqued, he tilted his head to the side, and taking a more powerful stance, he spread his legs wider.  One corner of his mouth pulled up when she turned her gaze toward him at the movement, a barely there smile appearing on her face.  Odin was talking, but he couldn't hear the words.  He was too busy listening to her thoughtsーone of his many talents.  

Her silent words slithered across his mind as she looked Loki up and down.

 _Now that's more like it_.  

Reaching a hand to the hair tumbling around the left side of her face, she nervously moved it behind her ear. 

_He has a rather intense stare, does he not?  Those emerald eyes...they look so familiar...so beautiful._

He pursed his lips, enjoying the way her eyes moved from his boots slowly up his long legs.  She hovered for a moment longer than necessary over the bulge at the top of them, doing  _wonders_  for his ego.  Her gaze followed the line from his narrow hips, up the taut lean waist, to his broad shoulders and lingered at the collar of his jacket, slightly open, exposing his pale throat.   Finally, her eyes landed on his face.

 _Beautiful_.

It was her final thought before she seemed to wake from hypnosis and returned her eyes to Odin.  They continued to flick back to Loki though, and he licked his lips in response.  To anyone, it would seem as though he were correcting chapped lips.  In truth, however, he was imagining her in a dark green chamber with only heavy breathing and moaning breaking the silence.  He needed to stop.  His pants were becoming uncomfortably tight.

She furrowed her brow and squeezed the bridge of her nose before letting out a heavy sigh. "Forgive me, Your Majesties.  It seems my journey took a toll on my head.  I beg of you, what was asked of me?"

Loki had been an unexpected and  _gorgeous_ distraction for her, and it was nearly impossible to pay attention to anything other than that charming little smirk of his.

Thor scoffed, annoyed with her very clear preference for his brother.  First that girl in the garden and now this woman?  It was absurd the effect his brother had on females lately.

"The Bifrost is rather body blowing, isn't it, Lady Sigyn?  The Vanir are not known for their strong stomachs." He hadn't meant to speak so rudely, and the resulting guilt brought a deep scowl across his face. 

Loki's eyes widened substantially.  It wasn't often that Thor threw insults, less so when the object of said insults was a pretty little thing he might have persuaded into his bed.  Loki opened his mouth but closed it upon seeing her reaction.  Sigyn looked positively _murderous_.  He quickly changed his earlier judgment of her.  No, she was, without question, _not_ a pretty little thing.  Pretty?  Without a doubt.  Little thing?  Absolutely _not._  It was clear that this woman could not be _persuaded_ to do anything.

Closing her eyes, jaw clenched, chest heaving, she blew out a long breath as though she was attempting to control a knee jerk reactionーa treacherous word aimed at the golden son or a hidden dagger spun artfully in his direction.  Freya's eyes blew wide in poorly veiled _terror_ as she stared at her daughter.  

Sigyn fisted her hands at her sides, and Loki noticed a shift in the airーthick and heavy, smelling of ashes.  Similar to smoke billowing up from the hottest flames, a faint black swirling mass pooled around the hem of her dress.  Just as soon as he saw it, however, it disappeared, and sighing, she uncurled her fists, a look of relief smoothing her features.  He peered at the others questioningly.  Other than Freya, and maybe his mother, none of them seemed to have noticed anything.  Odin, Thor, and the guards were all oblivious.  He shook his head.  He must have imagined it.

Odin's voice echoed in the great hall, his impatience growing, the flames in the sconces flickering with the sound. "I asked when you wished to start your studies with my queen." 

Voice low but feminine and silky smooth, Sigyn answered firmly. "Immediately, Your Majesty." 

Odin looked to Frigga, who nodded and smiled at the daring young Vanir. "The guest quarters are already prepared, and the guards will escort you and see that your belongings are brought there.  I expect you to arrive at my quarters immediately after first meal tomorrow.   I do not tolerate tardiness, dear Sigyn.   Your lessons will conclude midday.  Final meal is served at first dark.  The rest of the time is yours to command.  I think you will find there is much to entertain you in Asgard."

The queen glanced sideways at Loki at the word _entertain,_ and snapping her fingers, a woman clad in a simple blue dress with high neck and long sleeves—a servant, Sigyn assumed—appeared at her side. "Lady Sigyn, this is Kyaer, your handmaiden.  Kyaer, the lady has traveled from Vanaheim and will reside at the palace for the unforeseen future while she studies Sorcery as my pupil."

Loki's head snapped up, smile spreading across his face.  Sigyn was a _sorceress._   He'd not been paying any great attention to the reason for Sigyn's residency.  So he  _had_  seen billowy black clouds move about her.  As though he hadn't already found her unbelievably enticing, the dark beauty now pulsed with _magic_.  It was an invisible and dangerous black cloak of power encircling her small frame.  His breath caught in his chest as she turned to walk back down the long path to the doors of the regal room, not before sparing him a positively  _ravishing_  smile over her shoulder.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_["Intro" The XX (chapter song) Instrumental](https://youtu.be/3gxNW2Ulpwk?list=PL8ts83qUe2BE3q7SbLBdpPTa086gnwsvf) _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: New "soundtrack" for this series as of January 2016. Old one was all over the place and not remotely cohesive. New one is chill/electronica. Full playlist on YouTube if interested. It's bass heavy, so I suggest using some good headphones for the full effect. 14 songs for 14 chapters. Thanks for reading, everyone.


	2. You Are No Match For Me

 

 

Sigyn followed Kyaer down a long and lofty golden pillared corridor, and they made a sharp left and stopped at a pair of double doors.  Swirling scrolls adorned the painted wood that had to be at least twenty feet high.  The room she entered was ludicrously huge.  Fresh evergreen garland hung from the aged bronze posters of the bed, which could have given sleep to six full-grown Asgardians comfortably.  Plush copper hued silk adorned its surface.  Idly, she ran her fingers over the silk.  If it had been black, it would have been perfect.  

_Really, Sigyn?_   Asgard’s royal family was giving her an entire suite of rooms, and she was complaining about the _color scheme?_   Scowling at her own thankless thoughts, she continued her curious roaming.  

Kyaer strode to another tall set of doors and pushed them open. “I'll draw you a bath to prepare you for dinner.”

Sigyn frowned and sniffed her hair.  Asgard had extremely high standards for personal hygiene apparently.  She didn’t especially wish to bathe at the moment, for she had already done so not three hours prior and smelled good enough, and she wanted to peruse the books from the massive shelf in her room instead, but rolling her eyes, she followed the servant into the washroom.  Walking into the space, her eyes blew wide.  

More like wash _hall_.  

She openly gaped at the sight of the white marble surroundings.  Was this a _joke?_   A bath the size of a pool had been built into the gleaming tiled floor.  Never in her nine hundred years had she seen such an audacious display of wealth.  Despite its awe inspiring beauty, it was a bit much.  But what had she expected?  This was _Asgard_ , for Hel’s sake.  Stripping, she washed herself quickly, climbed out of the pool, and walked back into the bedchamber looking for a wardrobe.  Spotting a large cherry armoire, she opened its massive doors and frowned at the rainbow glaring back at her.  

Disheartened, she turned to Kyaer. “Is there nothing darker?  I might rather put on the dress I wore earlier.”  

She did not relish looking like some delicate little flower waiting to be plucked for she was most certainly _nothing_ of the sort.  

Shaking her head, Kyaer pulled a slightly darker green gown off the rod. “I'm sorry, milady, but I've already sent your dress off for a cleaning.  Will this do?  If you’re looking for something darker than the lovely wardrobe that has been provided so _generously_ to you, this is your best option, I'm afraid.”

Ignoring the insinuation that she was ungrateful, which to be fair, she _was_ , Sigyn pulled the dress over her head.  She stared at her reflection in the floor length bronze gilt mirror leaning against the opposite wall.  It was quite nice actually.  There were no constricting ties like there were on Vanir dresses to inhibit her breathing, and if she had to pick a color, a shade of green would have been her first choice.  Smoothing the skirt, looking down at the hem, she frowned.  At least three inches of fabric grazed the floor.  

_Damn my short frame._  

These Asgardians were absolute _giants_ in comparison.  Alright, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but still, she would have to hold it up so as not to trip and fall flat on her face.  How mortifying would that be?  Falling in front of that black haired prince?  What was his name again?  Oh yes.   _Loki_.  She turned away from the maid, hiding the ridiculous blush spreading across her cheeks at the thought of him.  Come to think of it, there had been green accents on the black leather he’d been sporting in the throne room.  

Picking at a painted black fingernail, she turned to Kyaer. “Is green the younger prince’s color?”

Clearly confused by the peculiar question, the maid rose an eyebrow. “Yes, though it is brighter than the shade you are wearing.”

Hoping that the acceleration of her heart wasn’t as loud to Kyaer as it was in her own ears, she blinked rapidly.  

_Oh for Valhalla’s sake_.  

She was behaving like a blushing maiden, as though she’d never seen a handsome man beforeー _exceedingly_ handsome.  His face flashed across her vision, and sighing deeply, her knees grew weak.  

_Control yourself, woman!_

She nearly slapped herself. “I heard that the royals are particular to their personal colors.  Would he be offended if I wore his color?”

Plainly apathetic, Kyaer merely shrugged and waved off the question as though it were nonsense. “Not to worry.  In all likelihood, Prince Loki will not even notice your presence, let alone the color of your gown.”

Sigyn openly glared at the maid.  He’d noticed her presence in the throne room well enough.  

Determined not to show disappointment, she lied. “I am relieved to hear that." 

The nasty little wench pulled a drying bristle brush through Sigyn's raven locks, and rolling her eyes, the Vanir sucked in her cheeks.  As though she couldn’t dry her own hair.  She did not like this royal treatment.  It felt silly.  After all, she _wasn’t_ royalty.  

Kyaer retrieved hairpins from the pocket of her robe, but Sigyn shook her head and shooed the woman away. “I keep it loose.  I only pull it away from my face for training.”

Shocked, the maid froze. “Training?”

Sigyn brought a hand down her face.  What did the women here _do_ all day?

“Yes, training.  With swords, daggers, bows, and any and all other manner of weapon as befits a warrior.”

Kyaer scoffed. “You are so _small_ , though.  Do you not get hurt?”

Sigyn fought the urge to roll her eyes... _again_ ーthey would end up stuck in her head that way if she wasn’t careful.  

She did not, however, keep her tone light, and standing from her chair, she snapped at the insufferable woman. “Yes, I do get hurt, and quite often.  However, fighting is a skill which requires practice, and a woman, even one as small as me, has the same capacity to become a warrior as a man.  I would not be left defenseless if war descended upon my people.”  

Taking the hint, the servant nodded, and with a shallow bow of her head, left Sigyn to attend herself.  

_Thank the Norns._  She needed some space.

Striding to the sprawling vanity, where nearly fifty bottles of beauty products lined the immaculate marble surface, she rolled her eyesーdammit, she had to stop doing that!ーand answered her own previous question as to the use of a female’s time in Asgard.  Primping.   _Tremendous_.  She swirled teeth cleaner around her mouth, pinched her cheeks, dabbed deep red balm on her lips, and fluffing her hair, she returned to the bedchamber a minute later.  Her personal beauty routine was not up to Æsir standards.  Sighing, she shrugged her shoulders and plopped down onto the opulent settee in front of the white marble fireplace.  

Three sharp knocks sounded on the doors of the main chamber as she stared into the glowing flames. Standing, she smoothed her dress and stepping into a pair of brown heeled ankle boots which, thankfully, pulled the hem up to a manageable length, she practically skipped to the doors,  excited to see the rest of the palace.  Opening them, she smiled widely at the tall一 _of course_ 一yellow caped guard who stood in the hall.

“Lady Sigyn, I am to escort you to night meal.”

Grinning ear to ear, she nodded. “Do lead on.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Walking through the majestic corridor, she smiled at the still as statues royal guards that stood at attention every other pillar.  She chuckled at their reactions.  Their barely visible flirtatious grins gave a boost to her ego.  And she’d needed a boost.  Asgard made her feel positively _tiny_.

She came to the end of the hall where the sounds of dishes clanking and howling laughter grew steadily louder, and two guards moved from their posts in front of another pair of lavish and lofty doors in order to allow Sigyn to join the nobles and royal family in the dining hall.  Unsurprisingly, the sheer mass of the hall was more akin to a ballroom.  The waxed black marble floor was a work of art with an inlaid mosaic in the shape of Yggdrasil, perfect in its likeness to the great tree that was home to the nine realms.  An open air semicircular balcony extended from the end of the room, displaying Asgard's snow covered beauty.  Smoothly sanded circular pillars etched with gold and silver filigree scrollwork rose to the fifty foot heights where cherry stained rafters supported the vaulted ceiling.  Low hanging bronze pendants descended from the towering ceiling, bathing the great hall in dim golden candlelight.  The finest Vanir cathedrals would be green with envy.

Her eyes danced rapidly from stranger to stranger, until they finally landed on the piercing emerald ones that had dazzled her in Odin’s throne room.  Loki was clad in the same body-hugging black leather from earlier.  Holding his gaze, she walked soundlessly to her plush black and gold chair at the far end of the u-shaped table, which was _conveniently_ right next to the younger prince.  Turning his refreshingly dark head, he didn’t take his eyes off her, an alluring crooked grin gracing his striking features as he pulled her chair out.  Blushing as a girl would一 _oh honestly, get a grip, Sigyn!_ 一she nodded thanks to him with the most stoic expression she could manage despite her desire to melt into a puddle at his feet.   _Gods_ , if he wasn’t the most beautiful creature she’d ever laid eyes on.  Pushing a strand of black hair behind her ear, attempting to calm herself, she blew out a hot breath.

Loki allowed his smirk to widen into a dazzlingly bright smile at the sound of her thoughts.   _‘Beautiful’_ had been her preferred description of him since she'd first seen him. He was infinitely flattered by her avid admiration for him, or at least, her admiration for his looks.

He cut into the roasted pheasant on his plate and took the most polite bite she’d seen from a man, his chewing slow and silent.  She discreetly watched out of her periphery as the lean muscles of his jaw worked the bird into fine grounds and swallowed methodically, his prominent Adam’s apple dropping and rising on his gracefully veined long neck.  She would have traced the length of his hollow cheeks, jaw, and neck with her finger if she’d not stopped herself.

Her thoughts ringing in his ears, he could no longer contain his amusement, and he threw his head back and laughed out loud.  

At Loki’s sudden outburst, the room fell silent.  It wasn’t often that he showed anything other than a mischievous glint in his eyes accompanied by a menacing toothy grin. Genuine amusement, not at the expense of another’s misfortune, was rare.  

His laugh had turned into shoulder shaking giggles.  By the norns, was he truly _giggling?!_ ーif he hadn’t been so focused on her lustful thoughts, he would have been genuinely embarrassed.

Sigyn’s insides turning to molten lava at the lovely sound of his laugh, which was as attractive as his face and physique, she blushed hotly.  What was _wrong_ with her?!  It was just a _laugh_ , for Hel’s sake!  Her eyes went wide when his hand landed on her right thigh, his face relaxing into a slight grin, green eyes burning into her own.  

He began but paused. “Lady Sigyn一”

_Oh for the love_ …his voice would be the death of her.  If she’d thought his laugh was arousing, or his face or anything else about him, it was nothing compared to his voice. Deep and smooth and absurdly enticing.  He could have her right there on the table if he asked.  But he didn’t ask.

Smirking, he looked at her from underneath his brow. “ーI think it only fair that I inform you of my ability to read minds.”

Mortified, she blinked back angry tears, her face burning, the blood rushing through her ears deafening.  He had been listening to her thoughts, all of which had involved his mouth and hands and tongue and all his other... _parts_.  Despite her fervent desire to rectify her situation, she continued thinking how much she wanted to grab his face and shove her tongue in his mouth.  

Deciding it was impossible to save her dignity at this point, she teased him in return. “Allow me to congratulate you on your skillset, Prince Loki.  Forgive me for my lurid thoughts.”

She composed herself and looked away from him as a servant offered a goblet of mead to her.   _Ugh_.  She cringed at the sickeningly sweet beverage.  Was there no _wine?_   She gulped it down quickly, gagging at the taste, in hopes of easing her nerves.

Amused, his smirk widened into a grin. “I’m quite flattered by your lurid thoughts, actually.  I think you are perhaps as dark in nature as I am.”

Setting her jaw, she glared into his ridiculously green eyes.  Why did they have to be so beautiful?ーhe was making it impossible for her to think of a clever retort.

The grin did not leave his face, nor did the hand on her thigh which tightened ever so slightly as he brazenly looked her up and down. “Was that lovely dress for _my_ benefit?  I must say, you look positively _ravishing_ in it.”

She felt weak and powerless under his gaze, and it irked her to no end.  No one who knew her would have called her weak.  And they most certainly knew she wasn’t _powerless_.  Quite the opposite truthfully.  

Gathering her wits, with no small amount of effort, she narrowed her eyes, and returning his grin with a glower, she gingerly moved his hand back to his own lap. “No. The green is only a coincidence."  

She ran her hand across his long fingers, and at the movement, he turned his palm up encouraging her to continue tracing lazy circles on his hand.  Her lips parted and she leaned closer to him, her knee touching his.  Maybe she could make him feel a bit _weak_ , too. “It was not my intention to bewitch you, Your Highness.  For your sake, I shall avoid green in the future.”

Happy with her own wordplay, she grabbed an apple from a servant’s tray as he passed and turned away from Loki, grinning smugly at his pursed lips and sat back casually in her chair, one elbow resting on the back.

Loki lowered his gaze to her chest and moved his mouth to her ear, enjoying the shiver his breath pulled from her. “You think yourself capable of bewitching _me?”_

Eyes narrowing, he scoffed.  Clearly she had no idea with whom she was playing. “You are no match for _me_ , Sigyn.  Set your sights _lower.”_

Putting as much distance between them as their seats would allow, he returned his focus to his plate.  

She blinked rapidly at his callous words.  Well _that_ hadn’t played out quite like she’d hoped it would.  She hadn’t expected blatant rejection.  Not after their sexually charged banter.  What exactly had she done wrong?  Her heart dropped into her stomach.  In his eyes, clearly, she _was_ weak and powerless.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the dinner found Loki and Sigyn picking at the food on their plates in silence, not sparing each other a second’s glance.  No warmth radiated from his body, strangely enough, and it bothered her greatly.  He made no sound other than the slight rustle of his leather clad arms as he sparingly lifted minuscule bites to his mouth. Her new found knowledge of his telepathic abilities had her on edge.  She was unable to allow her mind to wander and, by the end of the meal, was completely exhausted. The task of controlling those thoughts, the force required to focus on anything other than the one thing that she desperately wanted to, had given her a terrible headache. She started at the sudden movement to her right, taking her from her focus.  Loki had tossed his napkin on the plate, letting out an annoyed and exasperated sigh, and she risked actually turning her head to look at him.

He did not acknowledge her presence and downright ignored her by turning his body away and starting a quiet conversation with his mother.

Was he truly that _childish?_   Sigyn allowed her mind to wander freely then.  It was liberating and relieving to do so, as though breaching the surface of the sea after nearly drowning.  Had he never allowed a woman to play his games with him?  What sort of God of _Mischief_ was he?!  Should he not _enjoy_ someone toying with him?  The attraction she’d felt so strongly to him was quickly turning into downright anger.

He suddenly sat up straighter and turned his head sharply, his profile now visible to her.

_I suppose reading minds isn’t always flattering,_ she thought as loudly as possible just for his sake.  She'd made a bet with herself that he’d been attuned to her every strand of thought.  Perhaps that was why he’d sounded so annoyed.  Listening desperately, trying to find himself within those thoughts, and coming up completely empty.

A new voice pulled her from her frustrated musings. “Lady Sigyn, is it?”

The question came from behind her left shoulder, and she turned to see an absolutely dashing smile displayed across the face of a very handsome face.  She grinned, one corner of her mouth raised slightly higher than the other, and arched a black eyebrow at the blond man who was bent down on one knee.     

“Yes, it is.  And how may I address you, good sir?”

He pulled her hand to his mouth for a quick kiss. “You may call me Fandral, my lady.  I am one of the Warriors Three, close friends of Thor and the Lady Sif and Loki, ahem, when he allows such sentiment.  I must admit, I have been unable to focus on anything other than you, and I desire your attention, if only for a bit.  Would you give it?”

The confident smile fell slightly as his eyebrows raised in question, and she noticed the flick of his eyes for a half second in Loki’s direction, who had turned his head back to the queen, giving an award winning performance of nonchalance.  

She could actually _hear_ the prince bristle at Fandral’s romantic efforts.  Smiling widely, she pushed her chair back, and rising to her feet, she grabbed his hand, pulling him back to his seat further down the table.  

Volstagg stood, offering her his chair, which she took gladly as she openly flirted with Fandral while sneaking glances at Loki.

Loki was talented in his act, _supposedly_ ignoring the exchange between the blond warrior and the dark beauty.  Eventually however, he dared to look at the bold Vanir and caught her gaze at one point when Fandral had turned to address Sif.  Loki listened to their utterly boring words about who had bested who in the training grounds earlier, and with a clenched jaw, he stood abruptly and excused himself.  He bent and kissed Frigga’s hair before strutting across the hall, purposefully behind the Warriors Three where he shoved Fandral with his shoulder.  

The four friends glared at him as he shot Sigyn a searing glance before exiting the hall.  He’d said she was no match for him.

_Damn_.

He hated being wrong.

 

* * *

 

_["I'll Be Your Reason" Illenium (chapter song)](https://youtu.be/-2Cu-OS5zhA?list=PL8ts83qUe2BE3q7SbLBdpPTa086gnwsvf) _


	3. Are We Blood Brothers?

 

The cold blood boiled in his veins as he stormed into his chambers, and twisting his wrist, the enchanted black doors slammed behind him.  He’d barely touched his food at dinner thanks to that short and aggravatingly gorgeous woman.  What had he been  _ thinking _ when he'd requested that his mother seat Sigyn next to him?  

His nearly empty stomach growled as he grabbed a kelly green apple from an aged brass bowl atop the black wrought iron sofa table and bit into it, his jaws sending a loud  _ crack _ through the dark room.  He grimaced at the tart taste, spewing curses, and threw the rest of the fruit across the room with such force that it smashed the mirror it collided with.  At the sound of shattering glass, the great sleeping black wolf that was sprawled across the fireplace rug lifted his huge head to glare at his master.  Loki glared back, lips pressed into a thin line, jaws clenched.

“Sorry, Fenrir,” he mumbled, the words so low that even the beast, with his superior ears, leaned closer to hear the apology, cocking his head to the side and blinking at him, as though asking ' _ what happened?'   _

Loki squatted next to the wolf and hung his head.  If there was anyone he felt he could speak to, completely uninhibited, it was the great wolf, who understood and empathized, wordless though he was.  The fact that he couldn't spill Loki's secrets didn't hurt either.  Even Frigga, in all her gentle motherly love and leadership, had proven to be an unworthy confidante at times.

* * *

_ Nothing more than a boy, Loki was playing tag with Thor and his friends in the palace halls.  Concerning himself with not getting tagged, he found his way to the servants' wing.  Atop a plain wooden table sat a beautiful bouquet of flowers.  They smelled as sweet as they looked.  Reds, oranges, purples created a fiery sunset blooming.   _ _ Stealing them for his mother, he quickly ran in the direction of the queen's chambers.   _

_ Thor charging around the corner, of course, caught him. “I thought we were playing tag?  And here you are collecting flowers like a girl!  You’re it now, little girl!” Thor laughed and made to run away but Loki grabbed him by his sleeve, and when it ripped, the older brother turned red with anger. _

_ “I didn’t mean to, Thor!” Loki cried as the blond boy punched him hard in his gut causing him to drop the flowers and double over in pain.   _ _ Thor was powerfully built even as a child, and Loki bore the brunt of his, mostly, playful violence. _

_ “What are you doing with these stupid stems anyway?” Thor reached a hand to Loki and helped him to his feet, regretting his actions at the sight of his little brother’s skinny frame hunched over.   _

_ Loki smiled proudly as he swiped the buds back up and held his stomach, wincing slightly. “They’re for Mother. I found them, and she will love them.” _

_ “She won’t want them if you stole them.”  _ _ Thor sniffed at a blossom and scrunched his nose. “They stink.” _

_ “They do not! And she won’t know where they came from anyway.”  _ _ Loki turned and skipped in the direction of the queen’s chambers with Thor hot on his heels. _

_ “I’m going to tell her that you took them.”  _ _ With that, Thor grabbed the bouquet and ran to their mother’s rooms.   _

_ When Loki caught up to his brother, Thor was already handing the flowers to Frigga.  _ _ “He stole them! I saw him!” _

_ Frigga looked at Loki, a disappointed expression spreading across her elegant features, as he held his head low.   _ _ He only wanted to give her something pretty.   _ _ Who cared where it had come from?  What did servants need them for anyway?   _ _ In his mind, he did nothing truly wrong.   _ _ His mother dismissed Thor and called Loki to sit with her, discussing the usual ‘don’t take what isn’t yours’ and ‘the ends don’t justify the means’ lectures that he’d been given before. _

_ “Do you not like them at all, Mother? I thought you would because they are so pretty...like you.”  _ _ Loki’s eyes glistened, waiting for her response, hoping for some semblance of affirmation, of appreciation. _

_“I do, my love.”_ _Frigga hugged him, and he left feeling whole, complete, loved._

_ When he received the same lecture, albeit in a far more stern manner, from Odin at the night meal, Loki looked at Frigga.   _ _ She kept her eyes on her husband, and Loki fought back tears. _

* * *

Loki stopped the memory dead in its tracks.  It had been, perhaps, a silly thing to feel betrayed over, but it was just one of countless others he kept pushed at the back of his mind.  He loved his mother, and she loved him, even if she'd shared some things with Odin that he wished she hadn't.  Frigga wasn't perfect, but she was still the anchor in his constantly storming sea every time he was reminded of his strained relationship with, well,  _ everyone _ .  He'd hoped to find new confidante, a true companion, and, of course, a sexual partner in Sigyn.  It seemed he'd lost that option already.  Fenrir laid his heavy head on Loki’s leather clad thighs.  

How had he let this night go to Hel?  Her once flattering thoughts had become a combination of anger toward and desire for him.  Why had he mocked her?  He'd been as idiotic as Volstagg!  He wouldn't lose her.  But then again, she'd mocked him with Fandral of all people!  Maybe she didn't want him as much as her thoughts had suggested.  It mattered not.   _ He _ still wanted  _ her _ , desperately so.  Of course, he hated her, too.  After all, she'd  _ humiliated _ him in front of the entire dining hall!

Grimacing, he rubbed his temples.  His mixed feelings for her were hurting his head.  Loki stroked Fenrir’s head before pulling himself to his feet.  The glowing green flames in the fireplace danced in a mockingly happy manner, and he snuffed them out with another flick of his wrist.  His usually comforting dark chambers were suddenly stifling as an odd sense of claustrophobia settled over him.  Sigyn had had a magnetic effect on him, an effect which he’d agonizingly not been prepared to handle.  Never in his nine hundred years had he wanted a woman as much as he wanted her.  Removing his black topcoat and armored breastplate, leaving only his black and green leather tunic, he left to lose himself in the only place no one would bother him.

So much for no one bothering him.  He’d not had  _ fifteen _ minutes to himself before he heard the familiar heavy footfalls of his brother.

“Loki?” Thor used his best version of a library voice which was still countless decibels louder than it should have been, that is, if there had even been anyone else within the hall to scold him. “Brother, please?  I barely saw you in the dining hall.  Father spoke of politics at me the entire meal, and when he finally released me, I saw my brother storming out early.”

Sadness enveloped his tone, and Loki could not continue in his favorite hiding spot among the rafters.  Thor’s pain was  _ his _ pain, and he would not endure it willingly.  He suffered enough on his own.

“I’m up here, Thor.” He spoke from his makeshift seat atop the cherry plank, his long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, his back leaning on the vaulted ceiling.  

He closed the book he’d pulled from the shelf.  Midgardian poetry was oddly beautiful despite his distaste for the humans.  It had been foolish though to read such sorrowful words in his current despairing mood.  Closing his eyes, he recited a passage from memory.

_ “I have known the arms already, known them all— _

_ Arms that are braceleted and white and bare _

_ (But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!) _

_ Is it perfume from a dress _

_ That makes me so digress? _

_ Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. _

_ And should I then presume? _

_ And how should I begin?" _

Sigyn's face splayed across his vision.  He desperately wanted to know those white bare arms and be close enough to smell her neck.  Yes, he was right.  Reading this romantic shit was definitely  _ not _ helping his mood.

“Stop it, Loki,” Thor said, his voice softening further as he stared up at the musing black haired prince.  

Just to spite Thor, Loki continued, although he knew he was really only doing more harm to himself.  

_ “I should have been a pair of ragged claws _

_ Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.”   _

Perhaps he truly would have been better off if he'd been born as a lobster.  Hanging his head, he sighed.  This self hatred would be the death of him.

Thor climbed gracefully, despite his size, up to Loki’s perch and hurled himself over the rafter, and straddling the thin plank, boots hanging off the edge, he swung his legs slightly as he peered at his dark brother.  

Loki stared daggers. “Don’t ask.”

Thor put his hands up as though admitting defeat. “I wasn’t going to.”

Leaning his head back, Loki sighed heavily. “That  _ woman.” _

It was all he could manage as he pulled his hand down his face.  Sigyn had rendered him speechless.  It baffled him.   _ No one _ rendered him  _ speechless _ .

Thor threw his hands up and hung his head. “Now the Vanir is on the receiving end of your scorn as well?  You  _ just _ met her, Loki!  How much hatred can you bear to dole out?  I think Hela herself will not accept you as her guest upon your death.  Will you ever find your way out of this darkness?”

Turning his head sharply, Loki snapped, “Perhaps I will destroy the Nine Realms and will have no need of a place of rest or torture upon my death, for all will die with me and we will simply cease to exist.”

Thor played with the fabric of his cloak, pulling at an imaginary thread.  He worried for his younger brother.  How could he rule Asgard without Loki at his side?  He was cunning and far superior to Thor in his intellect.  Even if Thor could find a way to bring and sustain peace within the realms without Loki's diplomatic skills, it wasn't what he wanted.  His love for the man across from him was enough to break him.  Thor would die for his brother, not a second’s consideration needed.

Loki slid the book just inside the waistband of his breeches and jumped down with ease, feet landing squarely beneath him.  Thor’s boots thudded softly on the floor behind him.  

Walking in circles around one of the many fire pits in the hall, Loki groaned, “She is not what I'd hoped.”

He’d loved her thoughts, at first.  Hel, he couldn’t have missed them because her mind was practically shouting them in her zeal.  She’d wanted him badly.  Just as he’d wanted her. Unfortunately his charming tricks hadn't been as charming as he'd thought.  With her harsh words and that horrible display with Fandral, she’d all but stuck a knife in him and twisted the blade within the wound.  Confusion creased Loki's forehead at the memory of his adolescent jealous display at the meal.  What sort of god of  _ mischief _ didn't like a sharp tongue? A clever retort?  What the Hel was  _ wrong _ with him?  Maybe he'd been pursued so often himself that he'd forgotten how  _ to _ pursue.  Maybe he so often shielded his heart that he’d forgotten he had one.  Tonight Sigyn had proved that the fist-sized organ still beat within his chest.  He was not the cat, and she was definitely  _ not _ the mouse.

Sighing, Thor ran a hand through his blond locks. “What did you expect her to do?  Should she have just crawled into your lap on the spot?  I know you asked mother to place the girl next to you.”

Thor put his hand on his brother’s shoulder only to have it shrugged off, his jaw clenching at the hostility rolling off of Loki.  It mattered not who or what had upset his brother.  Thor was always on the receiving end of Loki's wrath.  Perhaps it was because, as brothers, they had no need for pretense between them, thus giving their emotions free reign because of that same blood that flowed through their veins.  However, that shared blood slithered black through Loki.  Something was  _ off _ within him that Thor never could pin down, and he sometimes thought they were not brothers at all.

Loki's voice dripped with sarcasm as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, did Mother tell you, then?  Or did the mighty Thor seek out the seating chart himself?  She can’t keep anything from you.”

He had to rid himself of this incessant  _ unworthy _ feeling.  It was  _ killing _ him.  He’d felt it throughout his childhood.  Odin had given Thor preference in everything.  He had the better tutors, the more skilled trainers, the bigger horse, the benefit of the doubt even when the golden prince hadn’t deserved it, the shorter lectures…the  _ fucking hammer.   _ Teeth clenched and eyes pinched together at the thought of Mjölnir, his Seiðr rushed out of his extremities in a glowing green light, and he kicked powerfully at a plush reading lounge, its heavy brass frame flying into a nearby bookshelf.  Beautiful leather bound pages scattered across the floor along with the feathers that had been encased in the now shredded fabric of the seat.

Thor’s voice cracked imperceptibly.  “Mother  _ adores _ you, Loki, and you know it.  Remember that Midgardian bard?  She used to recite his sonnets to us at bedtime.  _ 'Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom.' _  She taught you that, and you'd do well to remember it.” Loki’s despair was his Achilles’s heel.  Keeping his wits about him became damn near impossible when his little brother behaved so hopelessly.

Exasperated, Loki rubbed both hands down his face. “Why must you  _ always _ come after me in the manner of a shepherd on the trail of his lost little lamb?  Just leave me  _ be _ , Thor!” Loki bent, removing the shining silver dagger that he kept faithfully sheathed in his right boot, and slammed it point down onto the closest cherry wood reading table, one of hundreds scattered throughout the hall.

Lips in a thin line, Thor crossed his arms. “I can't imagine that the Lady Sigyn did anything so horrific to deserve this kind of response.” Steadying himself in preparation for the coming onslaught of piss and hate, Thor squatted low, barely escaping the body bending pain of his brother's magic, as the green light shot out from Loki’s hand.  

Thor pulled Mjölnir from his belt, and seeing the hammer, Loki closed his eyes and sheathed his knife.  Returning to his full height, Loki swallowed back the frustrated growl that wanted to escape from his throat.  Why was he letting that woman get to his head like this?  It was positively  _ preposterous!   _ He had only  _ just _ met her!

Loki chuckled darkly. “You are a fool, brother, to speak of things unaware.  You've no idea what took place in that hall.”

Thor hung the hammer once more on his belt and rubbed his eyes, exasperated. "She toys with you, Loki.   _ Flirts _ , more like!" His baby brother was exhausting him with his sarcasm and bitterness, and for all his intelligence, Loki was being impossibly  _ dense _ . "Can you not see that?  Has your hatred for every single living thing and, apparently,” he paused, gesturing to the broken chair and damaged table, “non-living thing blinded you so much that you see the truth for lies and, more importantly, the lies for truth?  No, brother, it is not I who plays the fool now.  You will lose her, that is, if you haven’t lost her already.” He didn’t wait for Loki’s snide retort, only sparing him one last look of concern before turning away from the seething glare etched into his brother’s features and exited the library silently.  

Loki climbed back to his rafter perch.  Sighing, his shoulders slumped and pulling the book from his waist, he gave up the fight against his childish tears.  It was a relief no one was there to see his pathetic display of emotion.  He would have been humiliated.  Not bothering to wipe them away, he closed his lids and spoke the words on the page having put them to memory long ago.

_ “I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.   _

_ I do not think that they will sing to me.   _

_ I have seen them riding seaward on the waves _

_ Combing the white hair of the waves blown back _

_ When the wind blows the water white and black. _

_ We have lingered in the chambers of the sea _

_ By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown _

_ Til human voices wake us, and we drown.” _

* * *

__

Thor paced in his chambers.  His attempt to comfort or understand Loki had failed, once again, miserably.  Anger was brewing within him steadily, starting at the middle of his chest and moving outward in all directions.  He was a pool, and his heart was the watery essence.  Loki was the heavy jagged rock that had been thrown into him, displacing his molecules and sending out painful ripples.  He longed for the cruel stone thrower to cease its game of skipping stones.  Needing to let out the aggression, he grabbed his crimson cloak and stabbing his arm forward, fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of Mjölnir, flew off the balcony and landed at the farthest end of the training arena.

* * *

__

The moons were mere slivers of light but Thor could still make out the shape of something straight, small, and black flying across the arena.  The thing, which as his eyes adjusted to the dark, was an arrow slicing through the air and embedding itself into one of many practice dummies the warriors used for archery practice.  Within the span of five seconds, ten more followed, each splitting the previous one in two.  

Amazed and in awe of the skill of whoever controlled the flying weapons, he turned his gaze to the small shadowy figure wielding a longbow, that was clearly not of Asgardian make.  Eyes widened in shock, he ducked at the sudden change in posture of the small dark warrior, and with an audible  _ whoosh _ , an arrow slammed into a pole only three inches in diameter of the fence that formed the boundaries between the four separate fields right at his back.  The wood splintered just as his chest would have if he’d remained standing.  He resumed his posture cautiously as the figure grew closer, running directly at him.

Who else would be out here at this either very late or very early hour?  His mind had no time to guess as the figure came clearly into his vision and stopped short.  Angry grey green eyes bore into him as she lowered the lithe and gracefully curved longbow so that it hung to her side, brushing the dark green silk of her skirt.  She wore no cloak, no coat, no outer protection from the icy wind that whipped about them.  Her dress swished about her, and her long black hair spun around her face as a gust blew across the expansive field.  The dark clouds above seemed to descend upon them as they glared at each other, and a soft layer of snow formed on the dead grass under their feet.  

Thor broke the silence that overwhelmed the ten feet separating them, a deep chasm that he had no intention of falling into. “Why are you here?”

Deep frown clouding her lovely features, she shrugged. “I’ve always found physical violence to be the best remedy for sleeplessness.” She turned her gaze to the hammer in his fist and back up to his face. “I think perhaps you believe the same.”

A genuine smile broke across his face, and he laughed out loud. “And I think perhaps our sleeplessness stems from the same root.”  

The black smoke that had first shown in the throne room, formed at the hem of her dress, and she once again fisted her hands.  Thor gave her an empathetic half smile. Loki had hurt her.   _ Badly _ .  What had that idiot brother of his said to the poor girl?

“Whatever he said,” he whispered, daring a step forward as she stood still, eyes not leaving his, “I promise you, Lady Sigyn, he did not mean it.”

She merely shook her head, still staring at him, but not seeing him.  Her eyes glazed over as a pair of emerald eyes set in a sharply carved pale face framed with the blackest hair flashed across her vision.  The wetness on her cheeks froze as the temperature dropped further, and her face crumpled shamefully.

“I want to hate him.  His words were cruel.” She ran a thumb under her eye.  Damn tears.

Thor’s heart broke in mutual understanding, and he crossed the distance between them in two steps, wrapping his strong arms around her.  She started at the sudden physical contact, but he did not release her.  The dislike she’d had for the golden prince from the moment he’d hurled that insult at her in the throne room faded somewhat under his kind embrace.

Thor stepped back to look her in the eyes. “It’s as exhausting as it is impossible to hate him.  Believe me.  I know that better than anyone.”

* * *

 

Loki awoke on his library perch.  He had fallen asleep with his head bent to the side, resting on his shoulder, and it had left a terrible pain in his neck.  Rubbing the ache, he stood from the rafter.  It was still dark out, and the torches in the room had been snuffed out, probably during his unconscious state, by palace maids.  The moons cast a silvery glow through the arch window and he crossed the wooden plank, easily balancing on its thin frame.  The library stood at one end of the palace and faced west. There was little to see from the window other than the training arena which was currently unoccupied and covered in a new layer of snow.  At least, at this hour, it  _ should _ have been unoccupied.  His eyes squinted at the massive field.  There was a dark spot at the far end where no snow had landed.  Cocking his head to the side, he jump to the window ledge for a better look.  His eyes blew wide at the sight.  

_ No. No. No _ ーhe had to be hallucinating.  

The dim light from the hazy moons fell, showing very clearly, a tall broad figure with a blond head and a hammer swinging at its side, but the figure was not alone.  Walking next to him, shoulders covered with his brothers red cape, was a tiny frame, feminine in shape, with long black hair.  Heart sinking, anger swelling, Loki's stomach churned as he watched the scene in horror.  The blond man was draping his arm around her waist and pulling her close.

What  _ was _ this?  Had not an hour passed since that blond man walking across the field below had been in the library, seemingly so concerned for the immortal soul of his younger brother?  And now Thor was taking the one woman that Loki wanted and claiming her for  _ himself? _  Loki went numb.  He wanted to look away but he was a glutton for punishment, apparently, and he continued to stare in shock at what appeared to be a love scene playing out before his eyes.  He hadn’t even meant to, but the magic shot from him.  It swarmed around him, bathing him in the eerie neon green light of his powerful Seiðr, and sharp deep cracks wove a jagged web across the plate glass window, twenty feet wide and twice as tall at the tip of the arch, before exploding violently, heavy shards of the glass crashing loudly in the garden below.  The pair in the arena heard the soundー _ who wouldn’t have? _ ーand parted, staring at the empty space where the window had been.

Loki watched as Thor shook his head and finished the trek across the arena in solitude.  The other figure removed the red cloak and stilled herself, facing him, her grey green eyes meeting his as the wind whipped his hair about his face.  He could bear her sorrowful gaze no longer.  He turned away, jumping back to his rafter and down into the dark hall where his magic had left nothing but broken fragments of furniture and pages of books hurled in all directions across the massive space, all the while hearing a feminine voice crying his name into the frozen wind.

* * *

 

_["Artifice" SOHN (chapter song)](https://youtu.be/9btsq496hkQ?list=PL8ts83qUe2BE3q7SbLBdpPTa086gnwsvf) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to T.S. Eliot for the passages from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" and William Shakespeare for "Sonnet 116"


	4. Black Flame, Silver Dagger

Burning yellow blazed across the inside of her eyelids, and scrunching up her face, she pulled the soft copper silk over her face, a low gravelly growl coming from under the covers at the sound of happy whistling.

"Must you do that, Kyaer?" Sigyn mumbled as she threw the bedcover down and sat up, a deep scowl wrinkling her brow.

The balcony's drapes had been pulled back, revealing Asgard's blazing dawn. She had not slept enough, not even _close_. After Loki's seething exit from night meal, to her great shame, she'd sulked and excused herself from the company of Thor's friends and had rushed to her chambers to fetch her longbow and arrows. Firing the weapons into the burlap covered dummy had been soothing. Despite Thor's unexpected brotherly affections stitching together the gaping wound of Loki's bite, she'd wanted him to leave. Something deep within her soul had told her _this is wrong._ She'd felt an intimate closeness, despite their quarrel, with the dark prince and allowing his golden brother to wrap her in his cloak had felt treacherous. When the glass of the library window had shattered, the look of betrayal that had blazed in Loki's eyes had been heart breaking, as though she'd been that window which now lay in the garden, broken beyond repair. He really _had_ wanted her, hadn't he? She felt sick to her stomach at the thought of Loki abandoning his pursuit of her because of that blond prince. She cringed. _Nothing_ about Thor was romantically appealing.

The maid gave her a fake smile that suggested she was all too happy to rudely awaken her mistress. "Forgive me, Lady Sigyn, but I could only let you sleep in so long. The queen expects you in less than half an hour. I'm not sure how it works in Vanaheim, but you'll find that laziness in Asgard is frowned upon."

Sigyn ignored the thinly veiled insult and threw her feet over the side of the bed. "Dammit!" Running to the washroom, she relieved herself, splashed water on her face, and finger combed her hair.

Kyaer, wincing at her mistress' language, held a silk _black_ gown out to Sigyn, and the Vanir narrowed her eyes, practically growling at the maid. "Where was _this_ last night?"

How utterly frustrating! She really could have used anything other than the green she'd sported. That horrid dress had been her downfall with Loki. Distracted momentarily at the thought of his beautiful face, she played with the neckline of the dark garment while Kyaer tied the fastenings.

"The queen must have gotten wind of your dislike of color. She had this, along with a dozen similar dresses, sent here after night meal." Bowing stiffly, the maid left without another word.

Sigyn rolled her eyes. She mused as to why Kyaer seemed to dislike her so greatly as she retrieved her shoes and slung a charcoal colored leather satchel containing her spellbooks across her body. Was it her non traditional views on femininity? Or her color preferences? Maybe the _mild_ swear when she awoke? Her all too obvious interest in the dark prince? Perhaps it was the queen's generosity toward her? Shrugging, she grabbed an apple from the sofa table. It mattered not. She didn't care for the maid either.

_Too prudish._

Chomping into the fruit, she dashed from her chambers, not bothering with an apology as several servants dodged her scurried pace to keep from being knocked over.

* * *

Hearing a light knock on her door, Frigga flicked her wrist, a light golden mist shimmering around it, and the doors swung open, bidding a frazzled Sigyn to step in.

"You are not late, dearest. Do not fret. Tell me which magical gifts you possess." Frigga gestured to a plush steel blue arm chair, and taking the seat, relieved that the queen was not upset, Sigyn relaxed, speaking plainly.

"I think it's called eldur flutningsmaður? Is that right? Fire magic. I can manipulate fire, but I cannot conjure it." She lowered her eyes, suddenly self-conscious in the company of the mightiest sorceress in the nine.

The queen raised an eyebrow in question. "What is wrong, dearest?"

Well, this was going just _swimmingly_ , wasn't it. Shaking her head, Sigyn flushed. "It's just...I'm a bit embarrassed. I call myself a sorceress, and yet I can barely remember the magical terminology."

Frigga nodded her head and flipped to the introduction of the book she'd been holding. "I sent this same book to your chambers last night. I hope you brought it?"

Nodding, Sigyn reached into her satchel and retrieved the thick black velvet bound book, opening it to the same page.

"You need to know the ancestral language for spell casting. I will translate. You write." Smiling warmly, Frigga handed her an endless ink quill. "Seiðr, Seiður. Sorcery, sorcerer, or in my case, and yours, sorceress. And you were correct. One who has fire magic is called eldur flutningsmaður. You are incorrect, however, when you say that you can only _manipulate_ fire. Fire magic is, in a sense, mind magic, which is called huga Seiðr. And if you are able to cause fire to do your will with only your thoughts, then you are certainly able to create it with your thoughts, as well. It's just a more advanced skill. It might be helpful to speak with my son. Loki is quite talented in all forms of mind magic."

Sigyn blushed. After the previous night, she was well acquainted with Loki's talent. Furiously scribbling in the borders of the pages, she tried to hide her girlish reaction from his mother. She feared that having the queen as her tutor was going to be rather awkward.

Frigga eyed her dark pupil cautiously. "You do realize that fire magic can be quite dangerous?"

Sigyn shrugged her shoulders and half smiled. She was all too familiar with the _dangerous_ properties of her magic.

* * *

How unbelievably frustrating! Sigyn had tried to conjure a tiny flame for three hours and _nothing_ had happened. Frigga, of all people, should have been able to teach her, should she not?

_I'm just distracted by that bloody beautiful dark prince_.

Sigyn had nearly sobbed in humiliation as she'd gathered her things and excused herself, thanking the queen for her time. What a pathetic excuse for a sorceress she was. Returning to her chambers, she fell prone on the bed. Her distraction returned to the forefront of her mind. In truth, he'd never _left_ the forefront. He refused to leave her thoughts for even a moment's sanity. It was shameful how much she wanted him. Perhaps she just wasn't used to rejection, but she'd been so angry at his words.

_Set your sights lower,_ he'd said. She'd been damn near close to retrieving the tiny black dagger she kept strapped near the top of her thigh and slamming it into Loki's hand, the very one that had provocatively squeezed said thigh. The more she thought of him, the angrier she became, and as her anger grew, the dying embers in the fireplace roared to life, moving out from the hearth and spreading across the rug.

_Shit!_

Heat and smoke filling the space, painful hacking coughs ripping from her throat. Calling on her Seiðr, which had failed her miserably that morning, she held her hand out, palm down, over the nearing flames. Dark mist dripped from her fingers, hovering above the flames, drenching and snuffing them out instantly, and soft black tendrils of smoke coiled up gracefully at the loss of their source. This was getting out of hand. Her eyes swept across the ash covered and smoke filled room. Asgard was full of candles, torches, fire pits, and hearths. If she continued losing control of her magic every time she was angered, the entire palace would go up in flames. She pushed her hair back from her pale face and grabbed her longbow and arrows. Physical exertion was the best medicine for her rage. Leaving her quarters, she made way for the training arena.

* * *

If he spent every night tossing about his dark green sheets like he had last night, he would have permanent black circles under his eyes. Seeing her with his brother had taken his rage to new heights. He'd assumed Thor was romancing her, but the look she'd given him, the way she'd screamed _'Loki!'_ into the wind had been proof that Thor had been unsuccessful in his wooing, if that was indeed what he'd been doing. What the _fuck_ was wrong with him? Why had he been so cruel? He'd let his idiotic pride get the better of him, and she had slipped through his fingers. The loss was unbearable.

He'd slept not a wink, laying there in the black furs of his huge wrought iron bed, staring at the posters fashioned as serpents with jade eyes coiling up ten feet. He hadn't bothered to snuff out the green candlelight glowing dimly from the emerald crystal chandelier. The flames had reminded him of Sigyn. _Beautiful_ Sigyn. Her grey green eyes were like storm clouds twisting violently before blowing everything to oblivion, and their infinite depths haunted his thoughts. The black waves of her hair swirling around her face. Her dark red stained mouth. Her petite but strong and feminine frame. _By the norns_ , he wanted her. He'd never wanted anyone or anything so badly in his life.

When he arose his hair had been thoroughly tangled, matted with the cold sweat that covered his naked body. He'd been so hot with rage after breaking the library window that he'd barely closed the doors behind him before stripping nude and throwing himself on the bed, pale skin turned fever red. He didn't bother with a bath now, but instead rinsed off under the glass encased waterfall of his washroom, pulling his fingers painfully through the raven forest of thorns that was his hair, and he quickly toweled himself off before grabbing his armor.

Pulling on his thin green linen undershorts and matching long sleeved tunic, he tucked them into his black leather breeches and struggled into the outer jacket. The thick green fabric interlaced with black leather across the torso, and descended into an asymmetrical black leather flap ending mid-thigh. A horizontal upside down crescent spread across the black breast plate that hung from his shoulders. Grabbing the straps of his heavy black boots, he yanked them forcefully over his breeches and attached his aged golden pauldron to his jacket. Slinging the attached strap diagonally across his thin lean torso, he pulled the buckle to the tightest notch before fastening vambrances, serpents etched into the ancient metal in the same pattern as the armor at his shoulder, to his forearms. Finally, he sheathed his dagger in his boot along with his set of throwing knives which he hid snugly within the leather of his outer tunic. He wasn't sure what his plans were for Thor, but he needed to be prepared for a fight.

* * *

Volstagg brought his heavy ax down on his hay filled enemy and frowned at the lack of resistance. Fighting with practice dummies was as exciting as it was bloodyーthoroughly and disappointingly _not_.

Sif gripped her sword, swinging at Hogun with a huge smile plastered on her face. Offensive, defensive, and evasive...every technique had been burned on the inside of her skull long ago. Fighting was her first love. Well, that wasn't true. Thor had won her heart long before she'd held her first weapon.

Volstagg laughed as Hogun came at him. "Yes, Hogun, spar with me! You've outdone Sif! And these sack adversaries do not fight back!"

Annoyed, Sif blew her hair out of her face. Her favorite sparring partner, Fandral, was busy with another soldier, so she turned in a circle, looking for a challenger. Spotting Loki descending the stairs, she smiled. Honestly, the dark prince was her true favorite, more so than Fandral. His fighting technique was unlike any other she'd met, and his clever and sarcastic retorts during a fight were entertaining. As Loki drew closer, though, she frowned. Something was _off_ with him. He looked positively murderous. She followed the direction of his eyes. He was focused on his brother. Thor was engaged in a battle without the aid of Mjölnir. She looked back to Loki. He was picking up speed. She didn't see a weapon, but she knew he had a dagger sheathed in his boot, and tightness formed within her chest, her tear ducts filling quickly. He often looked as though he would kill Thor, but this was different. She'd never thought he really would _kill_ his brother before, but he had _murder_ in his eyes now, and without Thor's hammer in his way, Loki stood a chance of being successful. There was no way in Hel that she would let Loki get any closer to his target.

She ran toward the tall black figure, her sword at the ready. "Loki!"

Annoyed at being stopped in his deadly pursuit, he sneered. "Sif."

What the Hel did she want? Did he look like he was in the mood for sparring? Seeing the pleading look in her eyes, he guessed it had something to do with his brother. Coming to the oaf's defense again?ー _good gods,_ that woman had the _worst_ taste in men.

She stopped a few feet short of him, feeling small next to his long frame. "It's not worth it, Loki. Whatever it is. He's your _brother_ for Valhalla's sake! When will you two stop this?"

He tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips, seemingly considering her words, but she knew better. Loki listened to no one. Even less so when he was pissed off.

He closed the gap between them in one step, one hand wrapped around her throat, his grip just tight enough to suggest the seriousness of the situation, but not tight enough to cut off her air supply. "You know nothing, Sif, and I find it to be highly worth it. Now let me pass!"

Holding her sword steady with one hand, she grabbed his wrist and twisted it off her throat. He tried to shove past her thenーtruly he had no wish to fight _her!_ ーbut she put a hand on his chest and shook her head. Blowing out a hot breath, Loki swiped his hair from his eyes. Did she really think to stand in the gap for Thor? Was she really that idiotic? Did this insipid woman really think she could best him? Side eyeing her, his lip curling, he unsheathed his dagger.

_Very well._ If she wanted a fight, she would get a _fight_.

* * *

Sigyn ignored their stares as she ran down the steps into the training arena. The Crimson Hawks, Odin's finest warriors, were a burly crew of huge intimidating men and had nary seen an armed female, save for maybe Sif, but she was the only exception.

Her quiver, delicate evergreens carved into the painted black wood, hung at her back. Twelve razor sharp black arrows, jade and silver feathers molded carefully into the ends, peaked out the top. The curved longbow was slung across her body, left shoulder to right hip. Her long black skirts rustled across the uneven terrain and muddied with each step. Her eyes stung with tears upon seeing the man who had caused her fitful and sleepless night locked in a fight with Sif, and they were most certainly _not_ sparring. No, this was a true battle, and Sigyn knew of the war goddess' talents. If Loki were injured, or worse, killed, she would _end_ that woman herself. Despite her better intentions, she felt the dangerous magic flowing through her veins and the accompanying black coils of smoke appeared at the hem of her dress.

* * *

Loki moved to a low squat, one arm outstretched in front of his body, the other across his face, just below his eyes, had a palm grip on his dagger, pointed at Sif. "You cannot best me, Sif. You never have."

Sif held her sword as a staff, close to her body, as she rocked from one foot to another. "The blade I wield has bested many men twice my size. Your arrogance will be your end, Loki."

He laughed dryly. "Perhaps, but you know well that there are no men like me, Sif, so take care with your words. My magic hurts far more than my dagger. Don't make me use it."

Spoken through clenched teeth, his words were as sharp as his knife. He loved the spark of fear that shone in Sif's eyes for a second before she masked it. _Good_. She _should_ be afraid. He was going to end this childish game, and in that moment, he didn't care if Sif was killed in the process. He was done _caring_. Everyone always came to the defense of his golden brother, and Loki was far beyond just sick of it.

He scoffed. _As though_ Thor _of all people needs a champion._

Narrowing his eyes, Loki's leg lunged out in front of him, bent at the knee, toes up. The sole of his foot meant to collide with her chest, but she dodged the blow by falling to the side, one hand on the ground. She quickly corrected her vulnerable position, placing her other hand over her head, sword still at her hands, and flipped herself over sideways, returning to her original low stance. She made to pierce his side with the end of her sword, but he bent, his hands making contact with the ground, twisted his torso and brought a long leg down on her weapon, knocking it out of her grasp. Eyes blown wide, she arched back to retrieve her only defense, but Loki didn't allow it, flipping his body, back facing her front, pulling his knee back, his foot making painful contact with her face. Blood spewed from her nose as an audible crack sounded, her cheekbone crunching under the heavy sole of his boot. Stars appeared behind her eyelids in her temporarily stunned state, and she planted her feet firmly on the ground. She hadn't seen it, but the blade with the serpent handle had found its home between her ribs, Loki's hand wrapped tightly around its end, palm down, little finger touching her ripped flesh.

She heard the sound of her own scream, glass shattering, ear piercing, and saw him tear the dagger away, drenched in the same scarlet liquid that was now gushing from her open wound. As she drifted to unconsciousness, back arching and bending at the hip, Loki landed his hands into the dead grass, body hovering parallel to the ground, and swung both legs behind her knees, sweeping her legs out from underneath her, and she crashed onto the hard ground, her spine cracking under the weight of her heavy armor.

Somewhere, far on the other end of the arena, a gut wrenching cry rose from a blond warrior and Loki ducked, thinking Mjölnir would collide with him at any moment. Most likely out of fear, no one had stopped the fight between the dark prince and the female warrior. He then stood to his full height and turned to face the body of his brother, growing bigger with each step as the thunder god hurdled toward him. Knowing his dagger wouldn't be enough, Loki sheathed it and forced the magic in his veins to flow faster, green light sparking at his fingertips.

A different voice sounded from across the field, then, pulling him from his murderous thoughts. " _LOKI!"_

It was the voice Loki had heard when the window shattered. The sound sent shivers down his spine. He turned to see Sigyn running to him, black smoke, the embodiment of her magic, swirling around her. As she neared he felt the heat. It came upon him painfully quick, and his skin suddenly felt aflame beneath the heavy leather of his garments. Equal parts horrified and amazed, he gaped as the maimed near corpse that was Sif lit on fire.

_What the fuck..._

Sigyn's beautiful face twisted, terrified grey green eyes becoming black, and she threw her hand in front of her face, the dark magic springing forth from her fingers. The mist flew twenty feet, hovering above Loki and the defeated burning woman at his feet. The mist fell over the flames overtaking Sif's torn and broken body, snuffing the orange fire into nothingness. Loki watched, amazed at the powerful sorceress bending and moving fire before his eyes. He'd never seen anything like it in the nine. He rolled his eyesーas though he hadn't already wanted her with every fiber of his being.

Thor was upon his mangled friend in an instant, pulling what was left of her wounded body up into a tight embrace and calling for the healers. "What have you done, Loki?! How could you?! How could you?!"

Loki barely heard his brother's words. He was caught in a staring contest with Sigyn.

Thor whipped his blond head toward her and shot her a searing glare when she turned to him. "When she wakes, _if_ she wakes—Eir willing!—I will send both of you so far into the depths of Hel that Odin himself won't be able to drag you back!" Arm extended, gripping Mjölnir, he flew, disappearing from their sight, Sif wrapped in his free arm.

Sigyn froze, staring at his red cape as it disappeared from her sight. Thor's words were a broken record in her mind. What _had_ she done? She recalled seeing Loki and Sif engaged in deadly battle, the silver of their sharp enchanted blades glinting in the sun. Fear had sprung up within her body as a mountain top exploding, fiery lava spewing from its broken dome. Her imagination had run wild. She'd envisioned the end of the warrior goddess' sword skewering Loki's gut. When her vision had, thankfully, not come to fruition and instead Loki's dagger had torn into Sif's flesh as easily as a letter opener through paper, she'd praised Odin, silently hating herself for doing so. It had been the sight of Thor coming at his brother, death in his eyes, that she'd realized her worst fear.

_Loki dying._

She knew of Thor's love for Sif, and Loki, in his rage, had left his brother's friend, bloodied and gasping for breath, lying in the dirt at his feet. The thought of losing Loki, just when she'd found him, had nearly paralyzed her. It had been fear that had caused her stomach to fall within her small torso, and the magic had taken over. She hadn't aimed for Sif. She hadn't _aimed_ at all. That wasn't how her fire worked, at least not yet. She hoped to train the magic to do her will. Sif had just been within the damage zone and without the ability to escape, her shattered body became the unfortunate victim, succumbing to the fiery haze of Sigyn's fear and rage.

Guilt wracked Sigyn's body, and she shook uncontrollably from the mixture of magic and adrenaline as she felt the presence of a tall dark figure behind her. She turned to face emerald eyes hypnotizing her into an unnatural calm. Reaching a hand up, she pushed a loose strand of his raven hair behind his ear. Loki closed his eyes at the contact, relishing in the heat of her small fingers grazing the cold skin that stretched across his cheekbone. Daring to grasp the back of his neck, she took a step forward—not a pebble's width between them—and he bent his head toward her face. She felt his hand, fingers splayed, flat against the small of her back, and her heart raced at his close proximity. He was a magnet pulling her to him, bending her to his will. Resistance was futile, and she exhaled heavily as their foreheads touched.

_Just breathe,_ she thought, and she knew he'd heard it when he smiled in response.

His hand moved up to the space between her shoulder blades as his other arm wrapped around her waist, molding her body to the elegantly tall and lean frame that was his. Her eyelids closed, the last sight having been his parted lips moving achingly slowly to her own mouth. They ignored the soldiers scattered throughout the arena, gawking at their open display. Their desire for each other was plain for all to see, and they did not care in the _slightest_. Lost in the moment, they did not hear the cawing of two ravens circling over them momentarily before flying to the palace.

"Prince Loki! Lady Sigyn!"

Loki's head shot up, eyes wide, pulling away from what would have surely been the most passionate kiss of his life thus far, when the guards approached. Sigyn groaned at the loss before realizing the voice had been that of one of Odin's personal guards. Cautiously turning to face the yellow caped warrior addressing them, she willed herself to stand tall, not showing her terror. Surely those ravens, of who she'd been vaguely aware, had been Huginn and Muninn, Odin's personal seers and messengers. They'd told himーof course, they had. They'd seen Sif's mangled body, Loki standing over her, dagger in his hand, her blood splattered on his leather armor. They'd seen the shell that was the female warrior's body burst into flames, the smoke having shot out of Sigyn's hand. They'd seen all of it. They were the Allfather's eyes when his body was not present.

"Odin demands your presence in the throne room."

They separated from each other and followed the soldier who'd spoken. Two more flanked their sides and four followed behind, swords at the ready. Sigyn watched as Loki stepped gracefully across the rocky terrain, head held high. Either he had no fear, or he was a very good actor. Probably both. He was the God of _Mischief_ , after all. He'd probably been scolded by his father thousands of times. Well, _she_ had never been scolded by _Odin,_ and she'd never been more terrified in her life. Facing forward again, gathering the long skirts up so as not to trip over the hem, she did not see him looking at her, his eyes suddenly moist. He reached for the fist curled at her side, his fingers grazing the top of her hand. Head turning to look up at him, sadness written on his pale face, she uncurled her fingers and grasped his hand tightly.

Maybe he _was_ afraid of his father.

Dark clouds collided, and an icy torrent of wind whipped about them as a wretched scream pierced through the storm. Looking toward the sound, they saw a red caped figure bent over, hands covering his face, on the balcony of the healing rooms.

* * *

 

_["Bleed for Me" Digital Daggers (chapter song)](https://youtu.be/IkaTcOYFIc8?list=PL8ts83qUe2BE3q7SbLBdpPTa086gnwsvf) _


	5. For the Price of Naught

Pacing across the balcony, thunder clouds twisting viciously over his head, Thor turned when he heard footsteps approaching him from behind.  He was certain it was Eir, the chief healer, coming to deliver him the horrific news of Sif’s death, and he turned to face the calm and peaceful woman, her head pulled into a loose and low bun, the lines of time drawn across her features.

When she smiled warmly at him, he gaped, hopeful. “She breathes.  And she will live.”

His heart not only warmed at her words but set itself on fire with relief.  He'd loved Sif far more deeply than he’d realized.  Shameless, he let the tears spill over, sobbing openly, and grabbing Eir in a tight hug, he whispered  _ ‘thank you’ _ into her hair.  He ran into Sif’s healing room and stood over her.  She was awake, but her body was most certainly still broken. Her skin was still black and bleeding and paper thin from the flames that had engulfed her, but she managed to smile for him, grimacing as her burnt skin stretched across her face.

“I’m so glad, so  _ relieved _ that you are still with me.” The words were only a whisper in her ear as he leaned over her, careful not to put any of his weight on the bed or touch her.

She didn’t speak, but her eyes glistened with angry tears.  Sif had been in love with the Thor since they were children but had never allowed herself to hope for reciprocation. However, his words, his tone, and the look he was giving her suggested that he might return her love after all.  She blinked at him, wishing it didn't hurt so damn much to move her mouth so she could scream at him.  

_ Why now?!  I'm practically on my death bed!  A near corpse!  And now you decide that you love me, you huge brute?! _

He stepped back and turned to Eir. “How long will she need?”

“A fortnight, perhaps?  It’s hard to tell, but she is very strong of both body and will.  Such a combination will bring the healing about much sooner.  She will be right as rain in no time." Eir's peaceful face turned down a fraction as she continued. "However, I’m afraid that her golden locks will not return.  The follicles on her scalp have been damaged beyond repair.  I assure you that she will still be most fair.”

She turned to Sif. “Take heart, young one.”

Sif ignored the pain in her face as it crumpled with the news of her hair.  What a stupid thing to be sad about!  She was alive and would return to battle, to life, to that gorgeous daft man leaning over her!  But never again would she have need of a brush nor braids.  Thor’s fingers would never graze her cheek to tuck it behind her ear. She may have prided herself for being as strong as a man, but she was still a woman, and her hair had been her crowning glory.  She'd loved it.  It had been flaxen...stunning!  And now it was gone.

At her hacking sobs, Thor reached for her before remembering how badly he would hurt her if he touched her, and looking into her eyes, his own full of love, as though he’d never seen the beautiful blue hue of them before, he spoke assuredly. “They will pay for what they have done to you, dearest.  I swear it.  I will return soon.  I must go to my father.  They are receiving their judgment as I speak.”

He smiled at her and left the room as she continued to sob.

* * *

 

Odin growled at Loki who stood at the base of the dais, Sigyn at his side. “Explain yourself!”

Loki opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Thor’s booming voice echoing through the golden hall. “You coward!”

Thor jabbed Loki in the elbow before ascending the stairs.  Loki glared at him while rubbing the sore joint furiously.  

Thor bowed his head, hiding the tears. “Thank Eir, she will live, Father.”

“I am greatly relieved to hear—” Odin began.

Thor interrupted, turning and sneered at Loki and Sigyn. “Her body will mend itself, but her hair is forever lost.” Thor's glower became a pathetic frown.  

Loki rolled his eyesー _ oh dear, how ever will she go on now.   _ She’d be as bald as those Midgardian birds. What were they called? Oh, that’s right,  _ eagles _ .  Sif would be as bald as an eagle.  He chuckled quietly at the thought.  He really didn't see what all the fuss was about.  She was  _ alive _ , was she not?

Sigyn whispered so low that her words were barely audible as a grimace wrote itself across her beautiful face. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

Odin scowled at the weak apology and stomped Gungnir.  Instinct taking over, Loki stepped in front of her.  Arms reaching behind, he clutched the small of her back, pulling her into him, and she hid a smile.  The dark prince who seemed to care for no one was using his own body as a living shield for  _ her _ .

Odin's roar was deafening. “Silence, little witch!”

Loki leered at Odin and held Sigyn tighter still, but he kept his emotions in check.  His father was not known for his mercy.   _ She _ , however, did not hide her contempt and made to hurl a clever retort at the king, but Loki shot her a look that said  _ 'you do want to live, do you not?!' _

She clamped her mouth shut as the king’s eyes shifted to Loki. “I will have my son explain his actions.”

Sighing, Loki nodded. “Father, I am loathe to defend my actions.  But if I must, then I will simply say that Sif attacked me, and we all know of her military prowess.”

Rage in his tone, Thor growled and jumped down the steps. “You lie!” He made to throw a fist into his brother’s thin face, but Odin raised his hand, the gesture halting the blow.

Stepping back to avoid the hit, Sigyn stumbling somewhat behind him, Loki hissed. “Thor, was there ever a man who fought her and came out with naught but a scratch?  I think not, brother.  She misinterpreted my intentions, accusing me of trying to kill you!"  _ And I wish I had, _ he added silently before continuing. "Her sword had been at the ready before I'd even spoken.  I only meant to protect myself, to deliver a blow that would slow her down.  But my aim was off, and, unfortunately, she received a far more deadly injury.  I never wanted to kill her, and, thank the Norns, I didn’t!  What more would you have me say, Father?!” Poker face in place, Loki's eyes shone with fresh tears.  

Thor laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “You are a talented liar, Loki.  Your aim is impeccable.  You are never  _ off _ .”

Loki almost thanked him for the compliment, but thought better of it.  Now was not the time for quips.  

“What would you have him do to me, Thor?  What justice is great enough for you?  Do you hate me so much that you wish me banished?  Should defending one’s own life warrant such a punishment?”

His hands were still at Sigyn’s waist behind him, his grip tightening.  She winced at the movement.  Her sides would have finger shaped bruises by morning.

Odin’s gaze returned to Sigyn. “Stop hiding behind my son, girl.  Are you a coward?  What have you to say for your actions?”

She had the good sense not to respond as sharply to his patronizing tone as she’d wanted to.  Stepping around her protector who released her reluctantly, she held her head high.

“I feared Thor would kill Loki and simply lost control of my magic.  I would never,” she fought back a smile, “ _ willingly _ do that.”

As shameful and horrific as her actions had been, she was oddly proud.  And really, what was all the fuss about?  So she’d lost control momentarily.  Sif was alive.  She wanted this little hearing to be over, so she could get back to that  _ almost _ kiss.  Her eyes glazed over as she imagined Loki's tongue in her mouth, and much too her embarrassment, she moaned at the thought.  Loki shifted somewhat, and she wondered if he was responding to the sound.  Or maybe he could see the images in her head.  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smirking.

Thor shook his head.  He wasn't sure what punishment fit the crime, but it looked as though his father was going to allow Loki to get off with no more than a slap on the wrist.  He hadn't seen what had transpired between Loki and Sif in the arena, but he refused to believe that she had provoked Loki.  She  _ must _ have had a reason to fight him, though what it had been, he had yet to find out.  Just as he was about to remind his father that Sif was nearly killed at the hands of his brother and that Vanir witch, Odin’s staff came to the ground.

“Loki, my son, you nearly killed a woman I love as a daughter.  What justice would you have?” His eyebrow rose in question as he looked upon his youngest.

Loki tilted his head back, considering the question.  Banishment was out of the question.  Sif had thrown the first punch, so to speak, and he did not wish to leave Asgard  _ again _ . What could he do to return to his father’s good graces?  What could he do to keep Sigyn,  _ beautiful _ Sigyn, safe?  What if Odin sent her back to Vanaheim?!  _ No _ .  He refused to live without her.  Was that a rash thought?  He’d only  _ just _ met her, as Thor had said, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was his match, and something about her made him feel like being rash.  His head snapped up as Thor’s words ran through his mind.

_ Her hair is forever lost.   _

Smirking, Loki spoke with utmost confidence. “I would give her shining new tresses.”

Thor scoffed. “What sort of  _ justice _ is that?!  You magically restore her hair and that’s it?!   _ All forgiven?!” _

Odin sighed.  His sons’ incessant bickering would send him back into Odinsleep.  At the sound of their father's exasperation, Thor shut his mouth, and Loki halted his clever retort. “Eir herself said it could not be done.  How would my son do what Eir cannot?”

Loki smirked, almost positive that his father would concede. “Who fashioned Gungnir?  Who wrought Mjölnir?  Can the same hands that crafted such weapons not weave a few locks of hair?  The dwarves shall make the hair, and I shall travel to Niðavellir to retrieve it.  All will be made right as rain.”

It wouldn’t be an  _ easy _ journey, by any means, if his father agreed.  Nomadic rock trolls roamed freely in Niðavellir, and they were fully capable of breaking even a prince of Asgard in two.  That, and he was loathe to beg Eitri, king of the dwarves, for a favor since they did not hold Loki in high regard, but it was his only option.  Anything was preferable to banishment.  Well, living out his days in the dungeon would probably be worse.

Odin seemed satisfied by the offer and, to Thor’s disappointment, nodded at Loki. “You will do this with four conditions.” The king set his jaw, and his voice seemed to drop an octave. “You and this girl shall be stripped of your magic.”

Never having heard of such a thing, Sigyn gaped at Odin.  Her magic?  Gone?  How?  

Loki frowned and eyed Sigyn with sympathy, wishing he could spare her from the experience.  Having magic removed was like peeling off a layer of skinーslow and  _ agonizing _ .

Odin reached forward as though making to shake a hand, and green light oozed from Loki’s fingers, his eyes, his mouth, shimmering around him, bathing him in an eerie green glow, resistant to the departure from his body.  Nausea twisting his stomach painfully, he retched dryly.  Every joint screamed, bone against bone rubbing together without the Seiðr filling the void between.  He hitched forward, hands gripping his head, beads of sweat appearing on his brow as his insides writhed in pain.  Sigyn, too, dropped to her knees as the black smoke was pulled from her body, dry hacking coughs escaping her throat.

Odin’s fingers closed into a tight fist, and wrenching his arm back, the green and black mists shot forward, audibly shrieking, tortured by the loss of their hosts, evaporating at the Allfather’s feet.  Loki and Sigyn gathered their weakened bodies off the floor, and she had to stop herself from swearing at the Allfather.  Being stripped of her magic had been torture, and she hated Odin in that moment, but shouting  _ 'fuck you!' _ would have been positively idiotic.

“My second condition is that you,” he aimed his eyes at Loki, “shall be unarmed.” Odin groaned.  Disciplining his sons was not his favorite task, even if Loki thought it was.  

At this, a Crimson Hawk stepped forward and removed the dagger from Loki’s boot as well as the throwing knives from his waist.  He glared at the soldier before returning his eyes to his father.

“Thirdly, I will not provide payment for Eitri’s services.  You shall have to procure resources elsewhere.  The final condition,” Odin turned his gaze on Sigyn, her eyes widening, fearing his next words.  

What more was he going to do to her?  All this for a  _ mistake? _  It wasn’t as though she’d laughed and tossed a lighted torch on Sif’s body!

“The final condition,” he continued, “is that, since you are so fond of this girl, Loki, she shall accompany you on this quest, also unarmed.”

Loki’s mouth dropped open as the same soldier removed Sigyn’s quiver and bow. Risking a step forward, for once truly afraid, Loki held his hands out to the king.

“Please, Father, with no magic and no weapons, how are we to defend ourselves?  How am I to protect her, if need be?  What of the rock trolls?  We would be outnumbered!  Do you mean to send us to our  _ deaths?!”  _ His insides were positively boiling.  If Sigyn was lost to him, he would destroy  _ everything _ in the nine.  

Odin’s voice echoed angrily throughout the room. “Perhaps I should instead send her to Muspelheim!  She does seem to love playing with  _ fire _ , does she not?!”

Her thoughts raced.  Muspelheim was home to fire demons and their king, Surtur.  With their scorching fingers, she would know  _ true _ torture.  Fear overcame her, and her vision blurred to black, her eyes rolling back.  She did not feel, unconscious as she was, Loki’s arms catching her as she fell, pulling her limp body to him, one hand at her neck, the other wrapping around her waist.  

He seethed, thankful, for the moment, that his magic had been stripped from him, lest he send out a burst toward the Protector of the Nine Realms.  That would have most certainly earned him exile.  And the term certainly wouldn’t have been as short as it had been previously.  Loki was nearly as frightened of his reaction to Odin’s threat as he was to the threat itself.  What hold did this woman have on him that he should think to offer himself as a sacrifice?  And indeed, that was his intention as he held her unconscious body against his chest.  Did he really prefer to face the fire demons himself rather than have Sigyn sent to the burning realm?  His instinctive response was that, well,  _ yes _ , he would.  Nothing terrified him more.

Thor’s voice broke through the stunned silence. “Father, no!”

His earlier words, laced so with revenge, fled from his mind as he looked upon Loki holding Sigyn desperately, his green eyes glistening with tears.  

Voice softening, attuned to his brother's pain, Thor spoke carefully, wary of Odin’s reaction. “Surtur would surely kill her.   _ Agonizingly _ so.  Muspelheim is too harsh, Father.  Niðavellir and their magic stripped of them and rock trolls are enough." At Thor's words, Odin relaxed.

Loki looked between his father and brother.  He envied whatever it was that flowed between the two that allowed Thor to have such an effect on the Allfather. Was there so much love amongst them that Thor could truly say anything to him and not fear the king’s response?  It would never be so for him.  Pulling himself together, nodding at Thor, he bit back an angry sob.  At least he had Frigga.  He still had Frigga.  His  _ mother _ loved him.

_ Mother loves me. _

He repeated the incantation in his mind until he was no longer aware of his surroundings, so lost in his musings he was.

Odin spoke firmly. “Make haste, my son.  Your dwarves await you and your maiden fair.” Waving them off, he frowned as Loki bowed  _ slightly _ , barely lowering his head.  

Sweeping Sigyn up, one arm under her knees, the other under her shoulders, Loki turned on his heels making his exit, head held high, the hawks in tow.

* * *

 

Loki growled as he neared the stables. “Prepare Sinir!”

The hawks were still at his heels, watching him for any sudden strikes.  Glaring at them, he set his jaw.  As though he was foolish enough to further aggravate his father!  Stripped of his magic.  Sigyn stripped of hers.  No tangible weapons to aid them in a very likely fight.  Genuine fear crept in at the edges of his mind.  She still lay limp and unconscious in his arms, head hanging back, mouth open.  He’d placed his ear to her lips several times, relaxing at the feel of her breath.  

A young stable hand approached him, the dark chocolate horse that had been gifted to Loki as a boy followed, pulled by the bit.  The boy bowed as the prince caught up to them. “Sinir, for you, Your Highness.”

Loki nodded as he lifted Sigyn, dead weight that she was, onto the saddle and, placing his boot in the stirrup, pulled himself up behind her.  He gripped the reins, pulling them, silently commanding his horse to turn in the direction of the Bifrost, and at the click of his master’s tongue and the slight kick of his legs, Sinir neighed and took off at a full gallop, not slowing until they were upon Heimdall.  Loki jumped down pulling Sigyn with him, placing her feet on the ground but still holding on to her.  Would she  _ ever _ wake?!

“Niðavellir.” It was curt and unkind, but he held very little respect for Asgard’s gatekeeper.  Loki stood at the eye of the bridge as it spun to life, and as the familiar gravity built quickly, pulling at his body, which was still wrapped around Sigyn, beams of light shot into space, dragging them with it.

* * *

 

Gagging, Sigyn clutched at Loki’s neck as they landed in the dark and barren dwarf land.  Somewhere along the gut wrenching ride that was the Bifrost, she’d come to, and not pleasantly.  Doubling over, cringing, she spit out the extra saliva that was flooding her mouth.   _ Oh gods _ .  She hated vomitingー _ who didn't? _ ーand doing it in front of  _ Loki _ would be utterly humiliating.  

Between retches, she shrieked. “No, no, no!”

Clamping his hand over her mouth, clearly not concerned that she might spew her guts right into it, and holding the back of her neck with the other, Loki, eyes wide, nostrils flared, shushed her.  He shook his head, and she nodded in silent understanding.  How ironic that she trusted a trickster god with her life.  There was not a doubt in her mind that he would not only kill for her but that he would die for her just as easily, no hesitation.

He released her, pushing a hand through his hair nervously.  No magic, no daggers, no bow, no arrows.  He wracked his brain for the solutions for all the  _ ‘what-ifs’ _ running through his mind.  The rock trolls had most certainly heard the Bifrost and Sigyn's overly dramatic criesー _ really?....that upset over a little nausea? _ ーand would arrive soon. In other words, they needed to run.  

Words were unnecessary as Sigyn followed the planes of his face, and comprehending their dire situation, she grabbed his hand, their feet hitting the ground silent as the grave as they ran across the wild weeds of the grass field.  They'd switched places, him leading her in the direction of King Eitri’s dwelling when the earth suddenly quaked beneath them.  On all sides trolls appeared, their thick towering bodies thundering toward the pair.  Loki cursed as he pushed Sigyn behind him once again, and she spun so that her back was pushed up against his, his large hands gripping her waist, her hands clutching his.  The trolls looked as though they would roast her along with Loki on a spittle over an open fire and eat them for supper.  Loki’s death grip did not loosen as the biggest of them, their leader, he assumed, circled them.  He was caught in a staring contest with the mud colored creature as he turned her slowly so that  _ he _ continued to face the troll.  Cringing at the nausea that was creeping back in at the sight of their revolting appearances, Sigyn turned around, crushing her face in between Loki's sharp shoulder blades.

Showing its teeth, the leader roared. “The dark prince of Asgard!  The second son has come to visit us!  Oh but he’s brought us a gift...a very  _ enticing _ gift.”

They all howled and laughed at his words.  Glaring from underneath his brow, menacing grin spread across his face, Loki sneered at the thing.  He had no powers, dammit!  What could he do?!  If he'd had his daggers, they’d all be dead within seconds.  Only one option remained.  One that Odin could not have removed lest he’d wanted his son mute.  

_ His tongue. _

“Don’t flatter yourself, troll.  I do not  _ holiday _ in Niðavellir.  I desire only to consort with Eitri.”

The leader bared sharp pointed teeth at Loki and raised his axe. “I have a name, lesser one!”

Rolling his eyes, Loki scoffed.   _ Lesser _ one?  Really?   _ Cretins _ .  Talented liar that he was, he not even so much as blinked at the threat.  One side of his maniacal smile turned down so that a crooked grin crept along his face, the same eyebrow rising imperceptibly, and bowing his head mockingly, he removed one hand from Sigyn’s waist and put it across his heart.

“My apologies.” After a beat of silence, he continued. “Perhaps you would like to share it with me.  I very much love knowing the names of my victims.”

Sigyn shouldn’t have been shocked when the creature inched back, shifting his weight from the front foot to the back foot.  She shouldn’t have been shocked that the thing lowered its weapon just that much.  She shouldn’t have been, but she was, and she silently marveled at Loki’s ability to manipulate and cause fear using only his words.  Outnumbered he may have been, but he was hardly  _ outmatched _ .  Now she understood why Volstagg had called him _ 'Silvertongue _ .'  She smiled to herself at the other possible talents of his tongue.

The leader glared at Loki before turning its perverse gaze on her. “I am called Hallsteinn, and you are trespassing.  I will have that pretty thing behind you as your payment for sparing your life.”

Sigyn gagged as Loki, seething, pulled her further into himー _ Like Hel you'll have her, filthy mongrel.   _

He gave an impressively convincing laugh. “ _ Great _ Hallsteinn, she would not go willingly.  And you would most assuredly lose your head if you attempted force for she, too, possesses the magic that flows through my veins.  And if she didn’t kill you first, the hundred Crimson Hawks cloaked in shadow that surround you surely would.”

Sigyn’s eyes widened, and she pushed her face further into his back, reveling in the delicious smell of leather and peppermint and woodsmoke.   _ Master of Lies, indeed _ .  

If they made it out of that dreadful realm, she was going to show him a great deal more than just her fire magic.  She listened, amazed, as the trolls' cautiously retreating steps rumbled the ground.

Not Hallsteinn, but one of its minions spoke. “You lie.” The leader shot an angry glare at it, and the other troll shrank into itself, lowering its head.

Daggers continued to fly from Loki’s eyes as the crooked grin played at the corner of his mouth. " _ Try me.” _

He raised a finger and looked up and around as though listening for a pin to drop.  “Can you not hear them?  The Seiðr-laced Asgardian steel of their blades being unsheathed?  Can you not feel their steps behind you?” His words were a knife, dipped in poison, held at the ready, waiting.  

The trolls looked behind them nervously.  They may have been bigger than the famed soldiers, but they had neither the training nor the hawks' magical weapons. Hallsteinn looked questioningly at Loki, desperately wanting the confidence to call his bluff, but Loki’s grin remained, and the finger that had been raised, he pointed directly at the creature.  

_ “You’ll _ be the first lamb to the  _ slaughter.”  _ Crafty as a serpent, Loki continued his game, and the trolls played, unwillingly, with him.

“Stand down!” Hallsteinn commanded and they obeyed, lowering their weapons.  Without any further words, they backed away until Loki and Sigyn were only specks of dust in their eyes.  Trusting no threat remained, the trolls turned their backs and ran to their caves.

Rubbing her templesーa headache was brewingーSigyn kept her voice low. “I was sure we were done for.  They were going to kill you and do the gods only know what with me.”

She’d never felt so angry in all her life, not at the trolls, but Odin.  He had removed her only weapons and sent her to a land of monsters. Her skin crawled at the memory of Hallsteinn’s lustful gaze.  She lurched forward, and Loki snaked a hand around her waist as she gagged  _ again _ .  How many times would she feel the urge to throw up in this wretched realm?  

“You must think very little of me, Lady Sigyn.  Do you think me only capable of protecting you with magic and daggers?  They would not have laid a  _ finger _ on you.”

His words were a whisper into her ear as they followed the foot trail to the home of King Eitri, and she shivered at the feel of his arm and his breath.  Both were so cold, yet she felt positively on  _ fire _ .  

Her gaze hovered over the length of his neck as he spoke. “It’s not much further.  See that arch at the base of the mountain about a hundred yards hence?  That’s it.  Come.  The trolls won’t after us now.”

They separated and ran at full speed, crossing the distance in five seconds, and halted at the door of the dwarves’ home.  The stunted race did not care for Loki, they’d been on the receiving end of his tricks before, but the short creatures were his only option, so he had to be on his best behavior.  There was no going back now.

* * *

 

Sigyn wished for her cloak as they were escorted down winding stone stairs.  Under the mountain was cold, not Jotunheim cold, but most definitely colder than Vanaheim. She wondered how Loki, being Æsir, could breeze through the blustery cavern with not a hint of discomfort.  Asgard was so  _ warm.   _ Well, usually it was. __ Was not the cold unpleasant to him?  Leather layers aside, an Asgardian should feel at least a shiver, but he was acting as though he’d been raised on a glacier!

A pair of heavy stone doors opened before them, and Loki grabbed her hand as they were led down a long aisle.  Dwarves lined the sides peering eerily at them.  King Eitri and his wife Egvanda sat, patiently waiting as the two foreigners came to the base of the thrones.  Loki bowed slightly and Sigyn, following his example, gave a shallow curtsy.

“What business does Loki of Asgard have with the dwarves?  Has your brother lost Mjölnir?  Surely Gungnir is not broken?”

The king’s words were  _ entirely _ rude, but Loki found them to be playfully sarcastic and smiled at the questions. “King Eitri, I’ve come to ask your craftsmen to fashion an entirely different treasure.”

He kept his tone respectful.  He needed to get back to Asgard, and Heimdall wouldn’t open the Bifrost until that hair was in his hands.  Eitri was his only option.  He thought it over and over to remind himself to keep the trickster in him at bay.  

The king looked from Loki to Sigyn, questioning as to the purpose of her presence.

The smile left Loki’s face and was replaced by a look of contrition.  His pleading soulful green eyes would melt even a frost giant. 

“We cannot return to Asgard without it.  Lady Sigyn of Vanaheim and I request that you weave a crown of golden tresses for a beloved warrior, for she was badly burnt in a fight and her hair will not return.  The Allfather gave his express command.  Either we give her new hair or face banishment.”

The king seemed to ponder over it as he stroked his long beard. “Golden tresses.  Golden tresses.  Hmm.” He looked across his court questioningly and received a multitude of nods. “It shall be done.” He paused, relief flooding Sigyn’s body and retracting in an instant at his next words. “For the price of two hundred gold pieces.”

Loki turned to Sigyn and whispered, grinning wryly. “Don’t suppose you’ve two hundred gold pieces hidden under those skirts somewhere.  I’d  _ gladly _ search for them.”

She blushed imagining Loki’s hands roaming beneath her gown before returning to the moment at hand.  They had to use their own means to pay for the locks, and the royal's endlessly deep pockets had been sewn shut temporarily.  

She shook her head but pointed a finger toward the sky and mouthed  _ Freya _ . _ ' _ “I believe my mother might be of help.  Freya is in Vanaheim currently, and I must speak with her.  May I communicate with her somehow?”

At Sigyn's words, Queen Egvanda stood and turned to a smaller female. “Kindra?  My daughter, would you fetch the looking glass, please?  I shall have words with this Freya.”

The girl nodded, vanished, and returned within half a tick, holding a small piece of jagged cut glass, no bigger than a palm.  Sigyn and Loki watched impatiently as the queen spoke inaudibly at the mirror.  The queen paced behind the throne, shrugging and un-shrugging her shoulders, shaking and nodding her head.  Finally, after a small eternity, Egvanda returned to her throne and sat.  

Wondering what Freya had said, that same ridiculous nausea twisted Sigyn's stomach.  She and Freya weren't exactly on good terms, and she feared that the woman had refused to pay the price.

“I’ve spoken with Freya.  She will pay.”

Loki relaxed the shoulders that had tensed during the mirror conversation and gave a reassuring squeeze to Sigyn’s hand.

Queen Egvanda continued. _ “In silver.” _

Eyes rolling, feet all but stomping the ground as a child throwing a temper tantrum, Loki cursed.   _ Damn that daft fertility goddess! _  Did she wish to never set eyes on her daughter again?!

Sigyn looked confused. “I do not understand.  She will pay the same amount, but in silver?”  This was not good.

Egvanda nodded. “Yes. What think you, my love?”  She turned to her husband who was glaring at the floor, a scowl writ on his face.  

Looking up finally, he gave a nod. “Hair you’ve come for, hair you shall have.  But for the price of naught, you shall have strands of  _ naught.”   _ King Eitri waved them off saying, “We require the night sky to craft the tresses.  The night sky of a fortnight.”

* * *

 

 

Much to the dismay of Loki and Sigyn, while they waited for the dwarves to work their magic, they were confined to separate guest chambers.  That is, if one could call a cavern similar to a dungeon  _ ‘chambers.' _  At some point during their sentence, a guard informed Sigyn that her mother’s payment had been received.  Since she was underground and had no reference for the time of day, she'd been scratching the days off on the wall with a small rock.  

On day fourteen, the door to her guest dungeon opened, and she jumped as Loki walked in.  Long shining raven black tresses were fanned out across his slender fingers.  Staring at him dazed, barely noticing the beautiful work of the dwarves in his hands, she fought the urge to run to him and jump in his arms after not seeing him for two weeks. Tying a silver ribbon around the strands, he placed them gently in a black wool satchel that was slung across his body.  Looking back up at her, his usually sleek hair disheveled now and hanging in his eyes, he held his hand out to her.  

They climbed the winding stairs and upon reaching the world outside the mountain, she let out a series of heavy breaths and laughed, relieved. “It was terribly suffocating down there.”  _ And lonely, _ she wanted to add.  She would have given anything to have spent the time in his long lean arms.

Loki said not a word but only nodded as he led her back to the Bifrost site.  It was the long walk she’d remembered, though not fraught with rock trolls this time, thankfully.  They came to the intricately burned pattern in the dirt, and showing the black strands, he looked up at the invisible Heimdall.  As the rush of wind and light rained down on them, Loki wrapped his arms around her.  

He put his chin on her head, and she inhaled the cool scent of his neck before he whispered in her ear. “Hold on to me...and please don't retch on me."

After no more than ten seconds, deposited safely in the observatory, Loki pulled Sigyn to Sinir, his chocolate coat shining in the light of the rainbow bridge, who stood underneath the arch of the doorway.  Having been out cold during her first ride, she was pleased when Loki lifted her onto the saddle first and then seated himself behind her, his arms reaching under hers to grip the reins.  With a click of his tongue and his heels into Sinir’s hide, the horse galloped, full-speed, to the palace.

* * *

 

“I assure you, Sif, you are even more beautiful now. The  _ black _ ," Thor paused, breathing heavily, admiring the dark locks in contrast to her fair skin, “it  _ really _ suits you.”

His low whisper combined with the stroke of his hand across his friend’s now fully healed face sent shivers down her back.  When Loki and Sigyn had returned, Sif had, much to her embarrassment, wept with joy.  She would have hair again!  And then Loki had pulled the horrid  _ ebony _ mane from the satchel that hung from his body. Happy tears had been replaced with painful sobs as the locks were placed on her head, rooting themselves magically in the once destroyed follicles.  She’d touched the new strands and found them as soft as feathers and just as shiny in appearance, but they looked wrong.  However, when Thor had looked upon her, and his eyes had gleamed with desire, she'd concurred that they were, at least,  _ complimentary _ .

The captain of the hawks and his lieutenant who had escorted them in and out of Gladsheim appeared at the door and spoke in unison. “The Allfather will see Prince Loki and Lady Sigyn in the throne room.”

Loki rolled his eyes and placed a protective arm around the Sigyn who had a scowl set to her face.  Odin was the last person she wanted to see right then.

* * *

 

Odin stood from his throne, Gungnir at his side. “Huginn and Muninn have shown me your success in Niðavellir.  Your weapons await you in your chambers.  However, you were to obtain  _ golden _ tresses.  For the slight that has occurred against the Lady Sif, you will wait two fortnights before regaining your magic.”

_ What?! _ ーLoki took a deep breath to calm the anger building beneath his skin and stepped forward.

“Father, Sif is far fairer than she was before. Thor said it himself.”

Odin raised a hand, cutting his son’s defense off. “As I said, you shall regain your magic in two fortnights.”

Loki scoffed at the dismissal but said no more, and nodding and bowing in defeat, they turned to leave, hands clinging to each other.

As he looked on them, Odin wondered if perhaps an extra stipulation should be added.  He imagined that they would easily find other ways to occupy themselves without magic. Why, what were two fortnights, when they could spend them wrapped up in each other’s bedsheets?   _ Yes, an extra stipulation for the second tier tresses, _ he decided silently to himself.

“But,” Odin said, “in order to show your respect for your fellow warrior’s loss, during the remainder of your sentence, you will have no contact with each other.  This is the express command of your king.  If you hold to these conditions, I will grant you the return of Seiðr after that time.  You have my word.” Odin’s spear made contact with the ground, and he made to return to his throne.

Loki fumed and exchanged glances with Sigyn who appeared equally angered.  Now this was too far!  Was he  _ never _ to have her?!  

Rage taking over his body, he pulled away from her and stepped closer to his father.  _ “Why?! _  Father, we went to Niðavellir, did we not?!  We faced  _ hundreds _ of rock trolls!  We spent a  _ fortnight _ in the cold  _ dungeons _ of the dwarf king’s home, and, might I add, we were  _ separated _ from each other the entire time!  And we returned with tresses that were—”

The retort ceased when Odin pointed Gungnir at his son, Loki's eyes blowing wide as the point of the spear made contact with his chest.  Would the Allfather,  _ his _ father, use the fatal weapon against his own flesh and blood?  His heart ached within his chest, eyes glistening with fresh tears.  Thor would never have found himself in such a position.

_ “NO!”  _ It was Frigga’s voice, ringing out from the pillar she’d concealed herself behind, that dared to scream at the king.  Odin spun to see his wife charging toward him and placing herself in front of her son. “How dare you threaten our son with that!  Would you make good on it?  Has he not done enough?  Have they not done enough?!”

Loki suddenly feared for his mother.  He’d never seen her speak to Odin in such a manner, and he knew not what the king might do to her.  Placing his hands on her shoulders, he pulled her into a hug, looking up at Odin accusingly as Frigga buried her face in his neck.

“You forget your place, woman!  I am king, and he spoke insolent words!” Odin’s eyes flashed with anger, but he sat down.  He would never strike his wife or Loki.  He loved his wife.  And Loki was his son, even if he was so unlike him.  Odin chided himself for the use of such empty threats.

Loki's body trembled, barely controlled anger humming in his veins.  Only Frigga, because of her close proximity, could have known it was there.

“Father, please, we will submit to your ruling.  Two fortnights apart and then our magic shall be our own again.  I ask only that you allow me to touch her once more.”

Frigga composed herself, drying her tears with the sash of her gown, gazing up at her husband. “Yes, Odin, my king, my love, have pity on them.”

Odin cocked his head.  _ “Once.” _

It was the only word he’d needed.  Loki nodded and turned, descending the steps in one bound, and Sigyn, eyes full of sadness and desire, crossed the space between them.  No longer aware of their audience, or at least, not caring that they had one, they clung to each other.  His hands were in her hair, pulling at the thick strands as he brought his mouth down on hers.  Never had he felt so much heat in one kiss.  She grasped at his collar as he encouraged her to part her lips, and following his lead, her mouth opened to him, giving his tongue free reign to roam as she moved her hands from his collar to his neck.  Moaning at the hardening that was occurring against her lower stomach, she grasped the hair at the back of his head by the roots.  He dragged one hand down her back and wrapped his arm tightly around her ribs, pulling her flush against him.  She was floating, seeing stars, melting into him, when two hands that were not Loki’s gripped her shoulders and yanked her, rather painfully, from him.  Loki growled at the captain of the hawks who had pulled her away as she was ushered down the hall, looking back at him, lips swollen and bruised from their kiss.  

Tears stung her eyes as the soldier leaned in, too close for comfort. “My lady, he is not the only man in Asgard who is quite  _ taken _ with you.” She scoffed, glaring at the strong warrior who looked intensely at her. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Theoric, Captain of the Crimson Hawks.”

From the front of the throne room, Loki’s jaw clenched.  

_ Theoric _ .

Oh how he loved knowing the names of his victims.

* * *

_["Cast Away" Etherwood, Instrumental (chapter song) ](https://youtu.be/DCly9mdxe3I?list=PL8ts83qUe2BE3q7SbLBdpPTa086gnwsvf) _

 

 

 


	6. Time Served

 

All eyes were on Sif as though she was a first year warrior.  And in truth, the woman descending the steps was, by all accounts, brand new to them.  The Sif they remembered, the golden haired double blade wielding female, was no more.  Her brothers in arms gaped at her shamelessly.  The respect that had once shone in their eyes had been replaced by a far more carnal emotion.  She ran a nervous hand through her raven strands at the disconcerting scene.  Honestly, she didn't know if she was more offended or more flattered by their approving stares. Her hair was the obvious change.  It was the outward representation of an entirely different Sif. She refused to show it, but her insides were softer.  The muscles had healed, the bones had mended, the bleeding had stopped, but her heart felt weak.

She’d returned to Eir multiple times over the past two days when she’d been released from the healing room but was not yet allowed to train.  Tired and weak as she felt, she’d convinced herself there was internal bleeding.  Endlessly patient, the chief healer assured her each time that everything checked out.  Plagued with the memory of Loki’s dagger, Sif wondered if it had been forged in a poisonous fire.  She’d gone so far as to confide in Thor about her poisoned dagger theory.  When Thor had, with less patience than Eir, assured her that she was fine and that Loki’s dagger was made of silver— _nothing more!_ —she’d stomped off similar to a child having been refused a bite of pudding.

Setting foot on the ground, Álfar ran to meet her.  He held his hands out to her, a welcoming smile stretched across his hard face, and she grasped them powerfully—hopefully with as much strength as he remembered.

“Lady Sif!  It would appear you’ve made a full recovery, and been graced with a raven mane in the process!  Just to be safe, though, I think perhaps block five is the best place to start.  There’s no need to push the boundaries.”

Sif growled under her breath.  The arena was fenced off into five sections—blocks—and the furthest was for archers.  As far as she was concerned, the bow was for little girls.  It was for new soldiers who were too scared to put themselves into the fight.  Frowning, she made her way around the field.  Was that what they thought of her now?  Was she just a weak little girl?  Picturing her last experience in the arena, her core burned with rage.  Loki’s maddened grin blazed against the backs of her eyelids.  She’d never seen him look so predatory.  He’d always been _intense_ , and at times she’d found herself strangely attracted to him in that intensity, but then Thor’s face would appear in her mind, pulling her right back to the golden son.  He had been hungry, but _she_ hadn’t been what he was craving.  She’d just been in the way.  Why hadn’t she just let Loki battle out his hatred with the thunder god himself?  Thor was more than capable of taking care of himself!  What an absolute fool she’d been. She’d been stabbed, broken, burned, and had lost her _stupid_ hair.  And what was worse, now she felt weak.  Scared, even of Loki and that woman he'd become obsessed with.  

_Goddess of War indeed._

Thor’s roar boomed across the field as he knocked out a soldier with a solid right hook. “Sif!”

Not slowing her pace, she waved at him.  He caught up to her in a flash of red and blond that made her heart speed up.  He never failed to produce a humiliatingly _girlish_ reaction in her.  He was dirt covered and sweating yet still as devastatingly handsome as always.

Breathing heavily, he smiled. “You’re on block five, yes?”

Rolling her eyes, she nodded. “Álfar wants me to take it _slow_.  It’s so frustrating!  I don’t need any more time than I’ve already taken.  He’s treating me like a woman, Thor!”

Her scowl faded, and she had to hold back a pleasurable moan as he brushed the loose raven locks behind her ear, his hand landing at the nape of her neck, unmoving.  He gave her a good once over and half grinned. “Indeed.  You _are_ a woman.”

She found it hard to breath with his large, rough, and utterly _masculine_ hand at her neck.  The way he said _woman_ made her knees weak.  She steadied herself under his aqua gaze.

He furrowed his brow knowing that Sif’s beautiful blue eyes would turn black with anger in the next moment. “Álfar isn’t to blame.  I requested block five.”

Not only did he see black eyes, but when the force of her fist collided with his nose, he saw stars.

“Thor!  You know how much I hate archery!  Surely you do not think so little of my skills?!” She wanted to pound him into the ground or, at least, give it her best shot.  Thor was sending her to practice with _children_.

“Sif, try to understand! I was only—”

She cut him off with a tight lipped glare and ran to block five.

 

  

* * *

 

 

One moment’s peace.  Was it too much to ask?  Turning her head, Sigyn looked behind her shoulder.  He was there.  He was _always_ there.  She didn’t like him one bit. What was his name again?  She pinched the bridge of her nose trying to remember.   _Th_ -something, or, no, wait, yes, _Th_ —she searched her brain for the word but came up empty.  She didn’t appreciate being _stalked_ and gave the soldier a good long glare as she proceeded to walk right into a pillar.

_“Shit!”_

By the norns had that hurt!  She was fairly certain it was her pride more than her body that had taken the blow.  She rubbed the arm that had collided with the stone and felt her face burning as laughter echoed through the hall that led to her chambers.

“I’m amused that you can’t take your eyes off me, Lady Sigyn!  That said, it might be more to your advantage to put your eyes forward whilst walking.” Theoric chuckled as he steadied himself.  He’d doubled over laughing when she’d smashed into the pillar.  He’d thought to warn her of her impending collision, wanting to spare her pride, but the glare she’d cast in his direction had annoyed him.  That vain arrogant dark prince had blinded her to anything but himself, apparently.

Composing herself, Sigyn smoothed her dress and brushed her hair out of her face.  She thought to call out an insult, but she choked on the slur when a tall slender dark haired figure appeared at the end of the hall behind what’s-his-name.  She locked eyes with his, their bright emerald hue putting the finest evergreens of Vanaheim to shame.  She couldn’t bear it. He was right there.  Loki was _right there_.  Face crumpling, she turned and walked away.  Loki watched miserably as she moved further and further down the hall before moving his eyes to the man who had become Sigyn’s shadow.  

Theoric, sensing Loki was behind him, turned to face him and had the audacity to set his jaw and glare at the young royal. “Your highness.”

Theoric’s glare faltered as Loki inched closer.  He was built like Thor and would have bested Loki in a fist fight for certain, but he was clearly nervous, the reaction stroking Loki’s ego to no end.  Face contorting into something that resembled a smile, teeth showing, mouth upturned, Loki’s eyes held no joy.  Everything about the soldier screamed _fear_.  Rapid breathing, flushed cheeks, neck veins pulsing too quickly, white knuckles, sweat beading on his forehead.  Loki had to give him credit.  At least Theoric knew a threat when he saw it.  

Loki lowered his chin, looking down at Theoric who stood shorter than him at only six feet. “Tell me.  What business does the captain of Odin’s hawks have with Sigyn that he should consort with her so?  Do you not have a regiment to command?”

Slowing his breathing, Theoric did not break eye contact with the dark prince.  What sort of captain would he be if he ran at the first sign of danger?

“The lady would tell you herself that there exists no _consorting_ between us.  And my personal business is my own, Prince Loki.”

Nostrils flaring, Loki fisted his hands.  It would have been unwise to send a painful blast of his Seiðr into Theoric’s chest.  He was already in enough trouble with his father.  No need to anger the old man further.   _Oh.  Wait_.  He'd almost forgotten.  No magic flowed through his veins anyhow.  He scowled at the thought.

“You would do well to remember your place, captain.”

Theoric bowed with as much respect as he could muster for the dark prince, of which he had very little, and relaxed somewhat when Loki took a step back.  Something about Odin’s second offspring made him shiver, and it wasn’t just the cold temperature that seemed to envelop Loki.  His relief was short-lived when Loki’s hand closed around his throat.  Eyes widening, his windpipe compressed, he clawed at the hand holding his throat and struggled to grip his sword.  But what could he possibly do?  He couldn’t slay an _Odinson!_  And there was much greater strength and power in Loki’s grip than he’d imagined there would be.  The warriors of Asgard had been very wrong regarding Loki as the weak prince.  He was anything but _weak_.  Not sure what to do, he stood, unmoving, hoping Loki would release him.  Waves of nausea came over him as the cold silver of Loki’s dagger barely broke the skin at the hollow of his neck.

“Sigyn is _mine_ , and I guard my possessions as a dragon guards his gold.  Do not forget it.” Releasing Theoric, he sheathed his dagger and stepped back, watching with well hidden glee as the soldier gasped and gaped at him.

“I do not think the Allfather would take too kindly to having the Hawks’ captain _murdered_ , Your Highness.” His voice was hoarse from having the air crushed out of it.  He didn’t believe for one second that the prince wouldn’t off him and wouldn’t bat an eyelash in the process. Loki wasn’t one to make empty threats.

Gaze narrowed, Loki’s tongue ran the length of his teeth. “Careful一” He began and stepped around the soldier and made his way down the hall as the captain exhaled heavily, shuddering at the sound of his name echoing across the stone corridor, barely a whisper but menacingly loud in the soldier’s ears.  _“一Theoric.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Loki haunted her thoughts, both conscious and unconscious.  As much as it pained her to think of him since twenty-six excruciatingly long days stood between her and the younger prince she couldn’t help herself.  It was damn near impossible considering how often their paths crossed.  Both she and Loki had, not surprisingly, been banned from using the arena during training hours.  Thusly, she had to wait until night meal concluded before shooting arrows.  And even then, a guard had to escort her.  Somehow, Loki was always in the arena at the moment she arrived, with his own personal guard.  He would avoid her eyes, slinging dagger after dagger into practice dummies, his blades slashing through the fabric, whirls of sawdust and feathers tossed into the air, until nothing remained but shreds of burlap, his angry grunts and yells ringing in her ears.

Good marksmanship was a lofty goal for her when the only man in the nine who she desperately wanted to touch but had been barred from doing so was a measly twenty yards away.  The guard who’d escorted her, who was, thankfully, not _what’s-his-name_ , gave her a sympathetic look, and she wondered if he pitied her because she wasn’t allowed to touch Loki or if it was because she _wanted_ to.  She brushed off the thought and sent an arrow flying across the field.  It didn’t hit the targetーnot by a long shot.  It had embedded itself in the wooden door of the weapons shed twenty feet behind and five feet left of the practice dummy.  Frowning, she crossed archery practice off her list of things to bide her time.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Being barred from magic had thrown off Loki’s entire schedule.  He usually locked himself away in his chambers during the morning hours lost in his magic books, casting new spells, logging his efforts and recording his conclusions.  He rarely broke fast until well into the afternoon.  Without his studies to distract him though, he experienced hunger pangs strong enough to drive him to the dining hall.  He understood now why Thor was so grumpy before he’d eaten first meal.  Clutching his growling stomach, he hurried to the spread of fruits, pastries, breakfast meats, various teas and hot mulled cider.  His usual fare of half an apple would not suffice.  Ignoring the surprised looks of the servants who were not accustomed to seeing the dark prince satiating himself so early, he filled a plate with ripe citrus and sampled the wild boar slices before piling several to the already stuffed plate and poured himself a cup of the hot spiced drink.  This was absurd.  Forced separation from his magic and Sigyn was going to make him as fat as Volstagg.  Striding to his mother, he plopped into the seat next to her, giving her hand a loving squeeze.  

The smile that spread across Frigga’s face was dazzling, and he returned it with a much smaller version of his own. “What an unexpected pleasure to see you in the dining hall at the start of the day, my son!”

Odin nodded to him from the head of the table, speaking with a mouthful of food, nearly incomprehensible, but the words reached Loki’s ears nonetheless. “Perhaps having your magic locked up will put some meat on your ribs.”

Loki ignored the comment as he greedily shoved a forkful of the wild boar into his mouth and chased it with a swig of the cider.

Irritated for her son, Frigga eyed her husband. “Our son’s build is exactly as it should be.  You wouldn’t want him to turn into Volstagg, would you now?”

Odin merely shrugged at the question and continued eating as Loki finished off the meat in several bites and tossed his napkin on the plate.

“I’ll take my leave now, if you’ll excuse me.” He pushed his chair back, the legs scraping loudly on the black marble tiles, and made for the doors.

“Loki—” Frigga began but was cut off by the wave of Loki’s hand.  

Turning his head, looking back at his mother, he came to the doors and collided with a small body.  Knowing who it was that he’d collided with before he saw her or heard her small mumble of _‘sorry,’_ his heart dropped in his chest.  He turned to face her, his eyes raising to meet hers. _Gods,_ she was so beautiful.  He wanted to bury his face in her hair, but stepped aside instead, giving her a wide berth and looked to his father, hoping that the accidental contact had not just earned them an extra fortnight of separation.  Odin hadn’t raised his head and Frigga, seeing that her husband had been too focused on his food to notice, waved Loki off.  Shaking his head, he gave Sigyn a joyless smile and continued on his way, the smell of leather that trailed behind him giving her shivers.

 

  

* * *

 

 

She was running out of things to fill her time with.  The arena had proven fruitless, the gardens were icy and had been closed off after several vapid courtiers had slipped, and the dining hall had almost been disastrous. If Odin had seen Loki collide with her, their sentence would have been lengthened for sure.  All she could do was count the days, which was becoming increasingly difficult due to her sleepless nights.  Trapped in a haze of mindless palace wandering, everything was a blur.  There was, thankfully, one place that lifted the haze... _slightly_.  

Small smile playing at the corners of her mouth, she opened the large doors to the library.  Her ever present guard set up shop under the door frame, keeping watch for the prince who frequented the book-filled hall often.  Walking the aisles, she idly scanned the spines for something entertaining.  She _always_ avoided the romance section.  The last thing she needed was a reminder of what she was missing.  Having read practically every fairytale in existence, she moved quickly through the fantasy section, too.  Fantasy was only a chewed up, swallowed, regurgitated version of fairytale, after all.  They were all fairies and odd human-imagined creatures.  What did they call them?  Vampires, werewolves, zombies—strange, the lot of them.  There were books on every trade, technique, animal, race, and realm.  She even considered browsing through the Asgardian cookbooks.  Maybe she could be of use in the kitchen during the next few weeks.  Magic books, spell books, journals of ancient sorcerers and sorceressesーshe adored them, but they would only mock her.

She finally settled upon a history book from Miðgard.  It was a firsthand account of a soldier from the _Great War_ as the humans called it.  She wasn’t sure why anyone would term a war as being _great_ , but she’d never claimed to understand humans.  It seemed all they did was _slaughter_ each other.  The way generations after generations of young soldiers needlessly killed each other was heartbreaking.  Would they never stop the vicious cycle?  Then again, it wasn’t only the humans who battled with each other incessantly.  There was a reason she’d trained with weapons.  She’d seen plenty of battles herself, and she sincerely hoped that she wouldn’t see another one for a very long time.  

She flipped through the pages quickly, lost in the travesty of it all, when the guard’s voice echoed in her ears. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I’ve orders to deny you access to the reading hall whilst the Lady Sigyn browses.”

She closed the book and peaked around the corner, her breath hitching at the sight.  Loki, clad in his formal armor, stood in the doorway.  She wanted to turn away, to remove her eyes from the one she wanted but couldn’t have, but he was just so damn beautiful.  She rolled her eyes at the word _beautiful_.  Was that the only word she would ever use to describe him?  She really needed to learn some new adjectives.  Hearing him speaking sharply to the guard, her stomach knotted with desire. 

“To _Hel_ with your orders.  My mother sent me to retrieve the record of the Alfheim dignitaries who are arriving within the hour.  It is absolutely vital that I return with it urgently.  I’m not here to consort with the Vanir.  Now let me pass!” Loki, teeth bared, face red with anger, shoved the guard out of his way.

She’d heard that there was a ceremony for several visiting Alfan nobles that evening, and Loki's attendance was clearly required by the look of it.  It was the first time she'd seen him in his formal armor, and she couldn’t help but marvel at the gold metal, brown leather, green cape, and the horned helmet that he held at his side.  Sigyn remained still, silently watching as he turned down the dusty aisle directly adjacent to her.  Pulling a heavy blue leather bound book from the shelf, he turned on his heel and made for the doors.  Halfway back down the aisle, he stopped abruptly and turned, magisterial cape swirling with the movement, and peered through the shelves.  It was impossible not to stare in awe at his perfection, and as he found her eyes, he grinned crookedly at her.   _You are positively stunning in that armor,_ she thought as loudly as possible, forgetting that he’d been stripped of his magic and couldn’t hear them, but the knowing look in his eyes suggested that he didn’t need magic to read her mind.  He left in a flurry of green and gold, and she exhaled heavily.  She couldn’t do this any longer.  What could she do?  Where could she go?

_Vanaheim_.

The thought popped into her head just as she slapped her hand to her forehead.  Of course!  She would go home!  She would be at liberty to do anything and everything in her homeland!  She could catch up with her sister!  She immediately shoved the war book back on the shelf and ran right past the guard and straight for her chambers to pack.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The strange frozen state of Asgard had not reached Vanaheim, and she breathed in the luxuriously crisp but not painfully frigid air.  The evergreen forest whispered in the cool wind that ruffled her cloak and loosened the raven strands that she’d taken to pinning back.  Low grey clouds moved across the bright stars casting shadows across a sprawling wheat field.  A few laborers trudged through the crop, gathering them into stalks.  She walked along the dirt path to the brick and stone abode of her childhood.  Billowing clouds of smoke escaped the chimney and light shone from the windows.  Her walk turned into a run as the thought of a homemade meal, tea in front of a warm fire, followed by a hot relaxing bath and sleep in her own bed became a realistic prospect. She ascended the stone steps of her mother’s house and tapped on the door.

Freya, wielding a proper look of disdain, peered out from a second story window and shouted at her youngest daughter before disappearing from the window and reappearing at the door. “Sigyn!”

Sigyn reached forward to embrace her mother but when two hands pushed her back, she furrowed her brow in confusion.  

Freya crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. “What do you think you are doing?  The queen contacted me about your impending arrival.  Although I made it perfectly clear that you are _not_ welcome in this house.”

Sigyn narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips in sudden anger. “Nice to see you, too.  Why I am I not allowed in my own house?"

A rush of cold air sent a shiver down her spine as sprinkles started to fall, and she looked past Freya into the warm fire lit room longingly.  Was her mother truly going to leave her in the freezing rain?  

_“Ha!_  This is _my_ house, not _yours_.  You are no fool, daughter.  At least, I didn't think you were.  I'm sure you know why, but I shall tick off the _‘why nots’_ for you anyhow.”

Freya raised her hand and counted off.  One finger, two fingers, three fingers, four fingers. “One.  Falling in love with the dark one, the second son, the evil _skinny_ trickster.  If you were going to fall for a prince, you could have at least picked the _heir_.  He’s far more handsome anyhow.  Two.  Nearly burning a famed warrior to death.  Three.  Showing absolutely no self-control with your magic.   And four.  Forcing me to part with five hundred pieces of silver in order to pay for your idiotic mistake.  You’ve done nothing but embarrass the name of Freya, and you will not enter until you prove yourself worthy of this roof...of being my _daughter!”_

Before Sigyn could even register her mother’s cruel words, the door was slammed in her face.  And that was that.  She couldn’t even find refuge in her home, or not _her_ home, but Freya's.  She slung the travel satchels she’d set at her feet once more across her body and trekked back up the dirt path.  There was no way in all of Hel that she would return to Asgard before she’d served Odin’s ridiculous sentence.  Instead of stopping at the sight of the Bifrost, she turned in the direction of her favorite old hiding place.  It would be a cold night for sleeping under the sprinkling clouds, but she could always pull out every garment in her bags and hide under them.  She climbed the steep stairs to the cliff’s peak.  This had been her quiet perch ever since she was a small child.  It hummed with memories.  It was a haven, a sanctuary amidst the pressures of being one of Freya’s daughters.  She’d cried herself to sleep many times on this cliff, and never had she shed more tears than when her mother told her that she was the daughter of a black haired dwarf named Iwaldi.  She should have expected no less considering her five foot six frame.  There had been no need for tears though.  Iwaldi had shown her the care that Freya had not.  Her mother did not like Iwaldi, and Sigyn assumed that had something to do with the unkindness she’d been shown.  She sat with her back against her favorite tree and looked across the waterfall, beyond the far mountains at the moons.  Her mind wandered to Asgard...to _Loki_.  She’d fallen for him, his sorrow embedding itself in her just as surely as his dagger had Sif’s ribs, as though she needed more of the dreadful emotion.  Blowing into her hands, she laughed dryly thinking of his words at that first meal together.

_You are no match for me._

Nothing could be further from the truth.  

She started at the sound of crunching pine needles.

“Hello, Sigyn.”  The soft voice of her older sister, Nanna, brought fresh tears to her eyes, and she pulled her into a warm hug, relieving the coldness in her bones instantly.  Nanna rubbed her arms rapidly and blew into her hands. “You must be freezing!”

Sigyn's teeth chattered in response. “It’s not as cold as Asgard is right now.”

Nanna picked a few sprigs of grass from their roots and dropped them into Sigyn’s hands where they turned into furry caterpillars.  Sigyn smiled at their ticklish squirming. What simple, _harmless_ magic her sister had.  

“Asgard is usually warm, is it not?”

Sigyn shrugged. “Well, it’s positively frigid there right now.  Everyone’s been complaining about it.”

Snorting, Nanna rolled her eyes. “Those poor frigid immortals!”

Nanna didn’t hide her disdain for their sister race.  Vanir were immortal as well, just less prideful.  After all, Vanaheim wasn’t golden nor did it house the protector of the nine realms. Having lived in Asgard for the better part of a month, Sigyn understood, though still loathed, the Æsir arrogance.

Nanna whispered then, barely audible. “Iwaldi paid for the hair.”

Sigyn’s head shot up at her sister’s words.  Her father had supplied the silver?  Freya had accused Sigyn of robbing her of something that had not even been hers?   _Shocking_.  She shook her head and laughed, a dry humorless sound. “Of course he did.”

Nanna placed a kiss on her nose and stood offering her a hand. “He is in town.  He would not turn you away, Sigyn.  Go.  Be warm.  Eat some hot food and sleep in a comfortable bed.  Don’t stay here in the cold, _alone.”_

Shrugging, let down once again by her own mother but no longer caring, Sigyn nodded. “Alright.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Who should call so late?” Iwaldi scuttled to his door to find the daughter he rarely saw soaking wet and shivering. “Come in!  Come in!  Dear girl, come in out of that rain!”

Grabbing her shoulders, he pulled her in and pushed her to the fireplace where he took her wet cloak and satchels.  Palms facing the fire, the smell of hot bread overwhelmed her senses and her stomach growled in response.

“Bread’s freshly made, darling.  And I’m warming a pot of tea, too.”

She nodded her thanks, and grabbing a slice of the bread, she chewed greedily. “This is heavenly.  Thank you, Father.”

Smiling, he gestured for her to sit and threw her a wool blanket, hurrying to the kitchen at the sound of the whistling pot. “What shall it be.  Peppermint is your favorite, yes?”

He poured the water over the tea leaves at her nod of approval, sifted the tea into a china cup,  and brought it to her on a saucer.  Sniffing at the steam, she sighed.  Yes, she loved the smell of peppermint...and woodsmoke...and _leather_.

“Your mother kicked you out, did she?  Sugar?”

She scooped a spoonful from the bowl he pushed to her. “Thank you.  Of course, she had no need to kick me out seeing as how I did not get beyond the threshold.”

“Damn that woman’s temper.  When she asked for the gold, I said no because I truly had none, but when she said it was you who needed it, I had to do something.  How could I not?  So I forked over the same amount in silver.  It was all I had.  I do wish you hadn’t gotten yourself into such trouble, though.  It seems that prince has affected your judgment.” He looked her straight in the eyes, not a hint of jest in his tone. “That boy is nothing but  _trouble_ , dear girl.”

She stared at him blankly, unsure what to say.  She knew he was right.  Loki _was_ a great deal of trouble.  His mischief had a cruel edge, but how could anyone blame him?  After all the shit he’d put up with from Odin?  From Thor and his friends?  She empathized _greatly_ with him even if no one else would.  She didn’t care that he was trouble. She didn’t care because she knew, without a doubt, that she loved him.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

She spent the remainder of her sentence in her father’s company, and she found that the time went by rather quickly.  She liked Iwaldi.  She enjoyed watching him fashion iron into beautiful pieces of art, and he even let her try her hand at the forge.  He had thousands of books, all of which she’d never read.  He was also an incredible cook and threw parties to show off his talent.  She loved the parties.  After all, getting drunk with friends, even if they weren’t _her_ friends, was much more enjoyable than drinking alone.  Before she knew it, she was saying her farewells and departing for the bifrost site.  Her heart pounded within her chest as the beams of light shot down around her.  Flying across the realms at near light speed gave her little time to consider what she would do upon seeing Loki.  Upon holding him, finally.  She hoped she didn’t swoon like an absolute fool.

It felt like an hour had passed before she reached the gates of the frozen city, and when she did, it felt like _home_.  She had no desire to return to Vanaheim.  Not anymore.   _Asgard_ was her home now.  She ran through the icy bustling streetsーnot only because she was desperate to get to the palace and find Loki, but because she was positively freezing.  She was turning into a bloody _icicle_.  Oh what she wouldn’t give to have her magic right then.  Fire beneath her skin would have been helpful.  Why had no one brought her horse to the bifrost?  She was running with two heavy satchels slung across her torso for Hel’s sake!  At this rate, she would pass out at the palace gates.  Eventually she arrived at the gates and did _not_ collapse from exhaustion, thankfully.  

Grinning stupidly, she spotted Frigga on her lofty balcony.  She gave Sigyn a knowing smile and raised her arms, suddenly enveloped in black smoke.  Sigyn gaped, eyes wider than she thought them capable.  It was her magic, and it was coming straight to her.  The dark mist flowed down the stone wall of the palace and slithered along the ground before stopping at the hem of her dress.  She reached down and opened her palms to the smoke curling around her fingers, her heart racing as it sank into her pores, flowing once again through her veins.

_Time served._

Taking off in a flurry of black skirts, she ran straight toward Loki’s chambers.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Loki had seen the Bifrost roar to life.  He’d seen her running down the bridge.  Why the Hel hadn't he thought to supply her with her horse?!  No matter now.  He’d spent the last day pacing within his chambers, looking repeatedly at the dawndial on the balcony, and had slept not a wink knowing that Sigyn would return the next morning.  She would return, and he would finally have her.  He would have both her and his magic returned to him.

Pulling his tunic onーhe couldn’t very well go running through the palace shirtless, now could he?ーhe hurried to the outer doors and threw them open.  Abruptly, he collided with his big brother on the other side of the door.  Before he could give his most petulant eye roll, Thor handed him a gold chalice topped with an elaborate gold lid.  Thor's eyes shone with tears, and Loki felt relief at the sight of what he knew to be a look of forgiveness.  Truthfully, he hadn’t been certain that his brother would forgive him for what he and Sigyn had done to Sif.  This was just further proof that Thor would forgive him...for _anything_.  Tight-lipped, the brothers exchanged nods and grasped forearms before parting, Thor leaving Loki standing in the doorway.  Closing his doors, Loki stepped back slowly into the room placing the chalice on his desk.  Carefully, he removed the lid and watched with relief as the green light ran, escaping from its small prison, into Loki’s outstretched fingers.  He felt instantly stronger, complete, powerful.  His magic swirling within his core, waves of euphoria rolled over him.  Three sharp knocks rapped on his door, and he walked the short distance from his desk to the entryway.  Opening those doors, he felt the single most powerful emotion of his life. He didn’t want to call it _love_. He refused to.  Nothing could hurt him more, and he had enough _hurt_ in his life already.   

Sigyn grinned at him with a raised brow and stepped slowly into his room.  His eyes followed her as she stopped in the center of the room.  Spinning to face him, she took note that he was clad in his casual clothes.  Leather breeches, boots, green tunic.  All very easy to _remove_.  She wondered if he’d forgone his more complex armor for just that purpose.  He approached her with careful steps, emerald eyes locked on hers.

_That boy is nothing but troubleー_ her father’s words repeated over and over in her mind as Loki came toe to toe with her, pulling at the laces on her dress.  She considered bolting.  It would be her last chance.  He cupped her face then, his emerald eyes darkening.  By _Hel_ did she want him.  She wasn’t going _anywhere_.  Not now.  Not _ever_.  If she’d had any resolve to leave his chambers, of which she had _none_ , it would have failed entirely. She pressed her hands to his chest, barely covered by the low collar of his tunic, before sliding them up to his throat and around the back of his neck.

Groaning at the sensation, he leaned down, his forehead meeting hers and whispered.  _“Let us be true to one another—for the world, which seems to lie before us like a land of dreams, so various, so beautiful, so new, hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain…”_

His hands slid from her face to her neck and shoulders and arms and finally took her hands in his. “Asgard is no longer my home, Sig.”

Had just given her a _pet_ name?  She _adored_ it.

He paused and brought her hands up behind his neck and returned his to her hair.  _“You are.”_

Without a thought for herself, for her sanity, for her future, she pulled his neck down, bringing their lips together.  The fire in the hearth roared, sparks bursting from the bright green flames, and Fenrir, who they’d quite forgotten was in the room with them, jumped from the hearth rug and crawled under Loki's bed.

_It's too late now_ , she thought, her mouth bruising against his.  Loki had crawled into her heart and was laboring away, building his home.

  
 

* * *

_["Days to Come" Seven Lions (chapter song)](https://youtu.be/y1hWi-vgoaU?list=PL8ts83qUe2BE3q7SbLBdpPTa086gnwsvf) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki has a penchant for poetry. Especially the “romantic shit” as he called it back in Chapter 3, so naturally he quotes it to his girl. Fucking charmer.


	7. Blóð Seiðr

 

She may have had fire magic, but she’d never felt heat like _this_ before.  Every inch of her burned for Loki.  Pulling at the roots of her hair, angling her face up to his in a heated kiss, he walked her backward until she hit the bedpost.  Jarred by the impact, she opened her eyes, mesmerized by his long dark eyelashes as he deepened the kiss, his tongue forcing her lips further apart.  Eyes fluttering open, catching her staring at him, he smiled against her teeth.  Her hands trailed from his neck down to the hem of his shirt, and pulling away, he caught his breath and gripped the garment, yanking it over his head.

_Good gods…_

Pupils blown wide, she marveled at the exposed pale skin of his lean chest, taut waist, and narrow hips.  Strong arms encircling her waist, he lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his hips.  He crawled onto the furs of his bed, one hand holding her flush underneath him, the other supporting their weight.    Black hair hanging in his face, settling on top of her, he smiled at the stunning Vanir.   _His_ stunning Vanir.  Her dark locks splayed across his pillow, and her lips were swollen and red from his kisses.   Flushed cheeks and chest, soft fair neck and delicate collarbone, the loosened bodice exposing the tops of her breastsーdear gods, could she have been more _alluring?_  She wasn’t even _half_ naked yet.  He was absolutely going to lose his mind when he removed her dress.

He lowered his mouth to the pulse point in her neck, placing his tongue on the sensitive skin before closing his lips over it, and she moaned in response, scraping her black nails down the lean muscles of his back. 

_"_ _Fuck…"_   he hissedーSigyn had _talons_.  

Breathing heavily, she arched further into him as his mouth trailed down her throat and chest.  Sitting up on his knees, he grasped the top of her dress and forcefully yanked it down her torso.    Frustrated at the bodice that refused to pull down below her hips, he growled and ripped the seams apart, the skirt splitting below.  

She momentarily scoffed at the ruining of her dress, but when Loki moved down, his head between her thighs, the scoff twisted into a moan, her eyes rolling back in her head. "What the?…. _oh gods…"_

What was he _doing_ to her?!  Men had gone down on her before obviouslyーshe was nine _hundred_ years old, after allーbut the way Loki’s tongue was working against her was beyond anything she’d ever experienced.  He deserved a damn _trophy_ for this.  She combed his hair with her fingers, every muscle in her body tensed.  He watched her as he continued his long achingly slow strokes, holding her rolling hips steady as her head tossed side to side slowly on the pillow.  Knowing she was close, he pulled away, smirking, and sitting up on his knees, he pushed himself to stand on the floor.  No way in Hel would he let her come without him inside her.  Not the _first_ time.

Unable to form coherent thoughts, she whined at the loss of his mouth and sat up.  She ceased her whining immediately, however, her mouth curving up at the sight of Loki unlacing his pants, grinning devilishly.  Unstrapping his boots and tossing them on the ground with a heavy thud, he kept his eyes on hers.  His damp hair clung to his forehead, lips parting in a long slow exhale as he pushed his pants down in one quick movement.  Gulping, she gaped unabashedly and had to stop herself from licking her lips at the sight of Loki in all of his naked glory.

_A god indeed._

Her skin burned and froze and burned again in all of the two seconds it took for him to descend upon her.  He fit into her perfectly, his narrow hips sliding easily between her thighs, and breathing heavily into her mouth, he pushed into her completely in one smooth stroke, a deep groan rumbling in his throat.

“Sig, do _not_ move.”  

She was too tight, too hot, too fucking _wet_.  She felt better than he could have imagined, and gods had he ever imagined.  Over and over.  The thought of her naked underneath him had been on loop in his head for nearly two months now, and here he was, finally, her toned smooth legs encircling him.  He was plenty experienced in bed, but Sigyn was a different story altogether, and if he didn’t calm himself, he would never last.  Well, wasn’t this just _brilliant_.  He’d devolved into a teen-aged boy in the span of two seconds.  Vice like grip on her as she struggled to remain still beneath him, he cupped the back of her head, kissing her until she couldn’t breathe.  

She panted against his long agile tongue. “Loki, _please…”_

Hearing his name catch in her throat, he arched his back, his hard length retreating from her and rolled back to the hilt, her resulting gasp tickling his ears. "Fucking _Hel_ , Sig…."

Eyes on hers, he settled into a steady rhythm, one long lean arm tilting her hips up.  The angle drove her mad.  He was deep.  Too deep.  Achingly deep.   _Wonderfully_ deep.  He filled her entirely, her every nerve ending screaming from the pressure.  She was straddling the thin line between pain and pleasure, and it was incredible.  Every muscle in her body contracted as he kissed along her neck and collarbone, his hips driving into her for a small sublime eternity.  Mouth hovering over hers, his pace quickening, he bit down on her bottom lip.  She hissed, blood seeping from the split skin as his rhythm faltered, becoming erratic, and he licked the little wound he’d created.  She bit back and damn did it _hurt_.  He bled, but he didn’t care.  She’d already bloodied up his back.  

Intense heat enveloped them, that fiery magic escaping from under her skin, the flames in the hearth burning too hot.  Her head fell back, mouth gaping, eyes closed, and Loki cursed from the tightness as she came.  Seeing her lost in the euphoria that he had given her, feeling her convulsing around him, the last scrap of his control, which he’d desperately been clinging to for her sake, ripped to shreds.  Sweating and gasping, he closed his mouth over hers and buried himself in her hard and fast, bringing about his own end.  Shaking, not ready to unsheathe himself, though his hips had stilled, he collapsed on her.  He steadied his breathing and propped himself up on his elbows, his fingers twisting in her hair, eyes locked with hers.  Every single thing about her was breathtaking.  She was everything he’d ever wanted and more, and she was his.  What _good_ thing had he ever done to deserve her? She moved her hands from his hips, up his ribs, down his arms, and finally entwined her fingers with his.  

Beneath his chest, her heart slowed to match itself to his as he ran his thumb over her red stained mouth. “Your lip bleeds still, Sig.  I’m sorry about that.”  

She lifted her head, kissing him. “No, you’re _not_ , but it’s fine.  I can feel you _in_ me.”

He looked down at their still joined hips and back up to her with a wry smile.  

Rolling her eyes, she bumped his nose with hers. “That isn’t what I meant.”  

He ran the tip of his finger up her throat and along her jaw. “I know exactly what you meant.”  

She furrowed her brow, confused, and looked at him. “I felt for a moment that I _became_ you.”   

He nodded, understanding, his finger running along her jaw tracing the curve of her chin up to her mouth.  He held the finger up, now red, and looking at her still, licked it clean. “It’s called blóð seiðr, darling.”  

Blood magic.  That tiny little bite had been a magic ritual?  Well that explained why, despite it being their first time together, the sex was perfect.  She’d been able to feel his pleasure just as surely as she’d felt her own.  Did this mean that she would now feel his pain as well?  Had they just woven themselves so tightly together that nothing but death could cut them apart?  Did she even want to be cut from him?  No.  She most certainly did _not_ want to be cut from him.  She would cling to him for eternity.  He was still seated in her, and she’d never felt so complete and happy in her life.   _I’m in love with him._ The words splayed across her vision.  His mouth was on hers again, murmuring her name repeatedly, and the sound was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard.  She gasped into his neck and curled her fingers into his hair as he started rocking into her again.  She smirked to herself. Apparently, recovery was unnecessary for her god of mischief.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

Frigga seated herself on a plush red and gold sofa in front of the huge fireplace in Odin’s bedchamber.  It was odd for him to call for her so late in the day.  It was near time for night meal.  

He leaned forward on his chair across from her, elbows on his knees, and her heart dropped into her stomach at his words. “I’ve set a date for the coronation.”

Running a hand through her hair, she shook her head and sighed, a deep frown creasing her forehead. “Oh, Loki.”  

Her son would be crushed.  They’d all known the day would come when Thor would be crowned king, but her youngest had longed for the throne, or at least he'd longed for the favor that had been shown to Thor, since he was a boy.  

Odin rolled his eyes. “You dote on him far too much, Frigga.  You forget that you have _two_ sons.”  

Incredulous, she scoffed and pushed up from the sofa, her blue eyes narrowing to slits.  _“I_ forget?  How can you say such a thing?”  

“Friggaー”

She held up her hand, shushing him, and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “I am quite aware how many offspring we have, Odin.  A mother’s love for her son cannot be outmatched.  I assure you, husband, that I love Thor and Loki equally.  I also know that _you_ once told Loki he was born to be a king.  This will break his heart!  Have you no pity at all?”

The memory of the small pink baby with a black tuft of hair and green smiling eyes sliced through her heart.  She’d loved Loki instantly just as surely as he’d loved her, wrapping his tiny hand around her finger.

Angry at her clear preference for Loki, Odin stood then. “Do not use my words against me.  What would you have me do, Frigga?  Loki cannot sit on the throne of Asgard.  And you, of all people, know why.  There is nothing left to discuss other than the arrangements for the coronation.”  

Tears stinging her eyes, she marched straight to the doors, the face of a black haired wide eyed little boy stealing a bouquet of flowers for her pulling a painful sob from her throat.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_The moons of Asgard shone on them, their cold skin gleaming blue, as they panted into each other’s mouths._ _He moved within her, burning her back against the snow covered stone beneath her._ _Wincing at the friction, she arched into him, away from the frozen ground._

_His body offered no sanctuary from the painful cold, and she choked on a cry as his skin, blue under the light of the moons darkened to a deep royal blue._ _He gently brushed off the tiny frozen tears on her cheek, his teeth chattering against hers as the sharp black icicles that were locks of his raven hair fell in clumps onto her face, shattering on contact._ _He screamed into her mouth as each of his cold limbs ceased moving, bones becoming ice._

_She wanted to rip herself away from him, but his frozen body was a shackle._ _Pain twisting every nerve ending, she pushed and pulled against his ice encrusted frame._ _Her pale crystallized skin burned, black smoke swirling beneath its thin surface._

_It started as a small opening, a rip in the skin below her belly button, where Loki’s ice had trapped her against him, billows of onyx mist escaping through the wound as she writhed in pain, her body heating beyond a bearable temperature._ _Her body melted the frozen prince, his ice becoming nothing more than cold water as the dark flames encircled him, burning the cold blue flesh._ _The whites of his eyes, the green irises and black pupils, became hot—too hot—and burned red._

_Hundreds of ravens suddenly appeared circling and cawing loudly overhead, and pulling her hands from the back of his head, she covered her ears._ _His eyes, wide with fear, followed the birds as he came to his knees pulling her up with him._

_Menacing growls then pierced through the birds’ incessant crying._ _They stood to their feet, his magic enveloping and protecting them from not only the cold, but from the dark creatures peering through the trees._ _Wolves, salivating with hunger, stalked them on all sides._

_Without warning, the ravens dove for her, swirling around her, and she screamed, their beaks clamping onto her, their sharp talons piercing her skin._ _He tried to yell for her, but no sound escaped his mouth as the ravens took her into the snow filled clouds, his silent cry cut off by powerful jaws chomping into his leg._

_He kicked the black canine and reached for the dagger that should have been, but was not, in his boot._ _Looking back up, his eyes met with bared fangs._ _Twenty of them, at least, snarled and snapped at his ankles, and as they launched themselves at him, he found his voice, his torturous cries ringing in his ears._

 

* * *

 

Drenched in cold sweat, shaking, Loki shot upright, pulling his body from Sigyn’s still sleeping, albeit fitful, form.  Awakened by the sudden movement over his head, Fenrir came out from his hiding place beneath the bed, concerned for his master.  Loki flinched and nearly fell off the bed at the sight of the wolf before remembering where he was.  His chest heaved, and bending forward, he put his face in his hands, his body convulsing with quiet sobs.  The nightmare had been too real.  Fenrir pushed his muzzle into Loki’s hair, earning a weak pat on his furry head, and convinced that Loki was fine, he ran to the balcony, jumped over, landing solidly in the garden below, and ran off in the direction of the forest, presumably, to find a small animal to eat.

Sigyn shifted, opening her eyes slowly and ran a hand through her dark locks and over her face.  Breathing a heavy sigh of relief that she was awake, she sighed.  Loki had been in her dream, and he had changed.  He'd become ice.  His eyes had turned red and his skin, blue.  He'd looked... _Jotun_ , of all things.  Ravens had then wrenched her from his arms, and she'd watched wolves kill him.  She didn't want to know why she would dream such a thing, and thanked the norns silently that she didn't have the gift of foresight, at least she didn’t think she had that gift.  Well after that dream, she certainly hoped not.  It was probably just a healthy fear of losing a loved one that had caused the nightmare.  Or maybe she’d eaten something rotten.  Wrinkling her nose, she shrugged it off.  She wasn’t about to let the hair-raising dream pull her down from the high Loki had given her.  Noticing the bed shaking beneath her, she reached across the sheets, searching for the lithe body of her bed mate.  His large, slender, cold hands grabbed her face, his warm mouth covering hers, kissing her desperately, as though she’d just come back from the dead.  

His voice, hoarse from crying, sent shivers down her spine. “You’re here.”   

Kissing her mouth, her chin, her jaw, her neck, he wrapped his arms around her ribs, crushing the air out of her lungs.  She was baffled.  Had he shared the same nightmare?  If so, clearly it had rattled him more than her.  His reaction was alarming, to say the least.  Did that blood magic allow them to share nightmares?  Apparently so.  She could hardly just shrug off the dream _now_.   She’d seen Huginn and Munin flying around earlier.  That explained the ravens.  The wolves had shown up, without a doubt, because Fenrir had crawled under the bed. Why had she been pulled from Loki, though?  She was in control of her own actions, and no one could pull her away from him.  She would _never_ leave him.  But what if....

_Maybe he’s going to leave me…_

Eyes blown wide, fear reared its ugly head at the thought.   _No_.  She refused to think like that.  The way he was clinging to her gave no indication that he was going anywhere.  It had just been a dream.  

Muttering incomprehensible words into her hair, his hands moved from her waist to her hips and down her thighs, pulling her legs to wrap around him. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you, Sig.”  

She wasn’t just a bedmate.  She was a soulmate, if there was such a thing.  She meant more to him than anything in the nine, and she could be gone in an instant, leaving him broken and hollow.  

_This is absurd,_ he thought as he pushed into her.  He was behaving as though he was in love with her, and that was more terrifying than the nightmare.

  

* * *

_["Oceans" Crywolf & Ianborg (chapter song)](https://youtu.be/MRVBhh8lT9E?list=PL8ts83qUe2BE3q7SbLBdpPTa086gnwsvf)_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first attempt at writing a sex scene, and I must have read over it fifty times in the editing process in hopes of avoiding overly graphic/explicit terms, or worse, over flowery *cringes* terms. Assuming I haven't turned you off, I'll see you in chapter 8....


	8. It Was Always Never You

 

Sleeping in a man’s arms had never been comfortable for Sigyn, but _these_ armsーpale skin stretched over long, lean muscles, veins jutting outーwere the arms of the most striking man she’d ever laid eyes on.  Her fingers trailed across the forearm that was wrapped around her, his large hand cupping around the underside of her hip.  

Sighing heavily behind her, he pulled her further into him, and kissing her hair, Loki smiled, burying his nose in the citrus smell. “Is it morning already, woman?”  

She elbowed him in his ribs, and his chest rumbled with a small laugh, despite the sharp pain from the jab. “I think I’ve earned a slightly more affectionate term.  Perhaps cow or even dog.”   

He faked a scoff as she shifted under his arm to face him. “Come now, _dearest_ , you insult Fenrir.”  

Grinning crookedly at him, she played with the few strands of hair that peaked out from behind his ear. “I believe he jumped over the ledge of your balcony hours ago.”   

Hand splayed out flat on the small of her back, he pulled her flush against him and gave her a smile as bright as Midgard’s sun. “During which round?  We went so many that the memory escaped me.  You just couldn’t get enough of me.”  

She rolled her eyes at his smug quip but couldn’t help laughing.  He _did_ have a point. “I think he’d heard enough.  We weren’t exactly quiet.  Was he hiding under our bed?  Poor thing.”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked.  _“Our_ bed?”  

Face reddening, she corrected herself. “I meant to say _your_ bed.  It was an honest slip.”  

Cupping the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, he kissed her. “No, I quite like that.  This is our bed.  What’s mine is yours now.”  

_I am completely in love with her._ He felt her eyes on him, her mouth still suddenly.  Damnーhe had not meant that, or, he had not meant to _think_ that.  Pulling away, he knew she’d heard his silent admission, or maybe she’d felt itーhe wasn’t exactly sure how the blood bond worked.  He built a wall, stone by stone, slathering mortar between, blocking her from the thoughts of loveーcome now, he didn’t really _love_ her did he?ーrunning through his head.  

Sighing, he laid his head back on his pillow, closing his eyes. “You love me, don’t you?”

It was a simple question.  Easy enough answer.  It wasn’t as though she’d been hiding her thoughts like he had apparently.

“Yes,” she answered.

He opened his eyes, not a hint of mischief gleaming in their emerald depths and said nothing.  She could have cried at the deafening silence.  Apparently an _‘I love you, too’_ was out of the question.  Furrowing her brow, she pushed up, pulling the sheets up over her breasts, suddenly feeling overexposed.  

Sitting up beside her, he kissed her shoulder. “Have there been others?”  

He rolled his eyes as the words came out without having given a thought given to them.  What a _ridiculous_ thing to ask her.

One eyebrow raised, she sucked in her cheeks. “Other what?”

She could have guessed what he was asking, but she wasn’t especially eager to answer.

_Jealous fool,_ he chided himself silently.  He knew it was none of his concern, of no consequence, and he had not meant to embarrass her, but he couldn’t stop the impudent questions from flying out of his mouth. “Have you been with any other men?....sexually?”

Honestlyーhe could have facepalmed right then.  He sounded like an absolute fool.  That wasn’t what he’d wanted to ask.   _Of course,_ at her age, she’d had sex with other men, but he wanted to know if she’d been in love before.  Sigyn was his first…. _love_ ーhe scowled at the wordーand he wanted to be hers.  More than that, though, he wanted to be her _last_.  It was why he hated that damn hawk so much.  He would find a way to kill that man.

“You are not the only man I have slept with, Loki.”

Well, _obviously_ ーVanaheim was no doubt crawling with her suitors.  Surely she didn’t think he was asking if she had been a virgin for nine hundred years!  She wasn’t _dense_.  She had to know the true meaning behind his question.  Oh that she would have expounded on the subject and told him what he really wanted to know without forcing him to ask it.  Maybe she was punishing him for not returning her sentiment verbally.  

Smirking, she added, “My previous bedmate was actually how I ended up here in Asgard.  You should be grateful.”  

Her humor was lost on him, and she narrowed her eyes.  If he was going to be this openly possessive and jealous, why was he trying to hide his love for her?  His shifting emotions had her wanting to claw her skin off.

This wasn’t what he had expected.  He’d assumed she would answer curtly, he would have to clarify, and be forced to admit that he loved her.  Instead, she’d piqued his interest with the mention of how she came to Asgard.  Hadn’t she come to study under his mother?  

Tilting his head to the side, he frowned. “What does a previous lover have to do with coming here?”

She shook her head quickly. “He was hardly a _lover_ , Loki.  We’d grown up together.  Friends.  His name was Jöður.”  

Loki wondered momentarily if this Jöður—he sneered at the name—resembled him.  He hoped not.

“What did he look like?”  

_Oh, for fuck’s sake._ He couldn’t believe his own idiocy.  As if the man’s appearance had anything to do with this story.  Thankfully, rather than calling him out on his stupidity and leaving the room, she merely shrugged though her tone suggested annoyance.

“Um, well, he was a bit shorter than you.  Hair and eyes the color of chocolate.  His skin looked like a sort of...light caramel.  He was thin but strong.  Is that a good enough picture for you?”  

Nodding, Loki stared blankly at her.  He was the picture of apathy, but in truth, he’d been uneasy.  He hated the idea of her having a penchant for black hair, pale skin, or green eyes. He desperately wanted to be more than an attractive man to her, although he couldn’t deny the boost she gave to his ego with her approving gaze.

“As I was saying before I was required to describe for you the merits of his physical appeal, we’d known each other from childhood.  Freya said we very nearly shared a crib.”

Scowling, Loki’s tongue turned to venom. “Brilliant, so you began sleeping together from a very _early_ age.”  

Jaw set, she grabbed the belt of his robe from his desk chair, and yanking it toward her, she wrapped it around herself. “I’m not discussing this any further.”  

She made to leave the bed, but he snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her back to him. “Forgive me, Sig.  I’ll hold my tongue.  Please continue.”  

He’d smoothed his tone into velvet against her ear, sliding the fabric off her shoulder and kissing her neck.  Damn him.  He was pure _evil_ with that glorious mouth of his.  Shuddering, she leaned into his kiss.  

“It just happened one day.  We’d been exploring the cliffs near my mother’s home, and he kissed me.”  She paused, glancing warily at Loki.  His jaw was set, teeth clenched, but he did, as he’d said he would, hold his tongue. “I didn’t stop him.  And he didn’t stop either until, well, surely you see where this is going.  I’m not expected to give the graphic details, am I?”

Sucking in his cheeks, Loki cleared his throat, and looking down at her shoulder, he shook his head.  “That won’t be necessary, no.”

Thankful, she squared her shoulders. “Over the course of several months we continued to _see_ each other, if you will.  Then I started having dreams.  Dreams of a pair of mesmerizing, beautiful eyes...emerald eyes.”  She paused, looking at his reaction.  The faintest hint of a grin appeared at the corner of his mouth.  

_Bastard,_ she thought loudly, earning her his signature full smirk.  

She spoke freely then, no hesitation left in her voice.  “I must have sketched them a thousand times.  Those eyes haunted me, and not only in my dreams.  I looked for them in every face, to no avail.  Everyone had the same brown or blue color.  I tried locater spells hoping to find the man with the green eyes.  But the spells could only search the faces of those on the same realm, and I was terribly inept with spell casting anyhow.  I suppose I’d become obsessed and had, unaware, pulled away from Jöður.  My dreams were no longer just the eyes.  My body writhed under those eyes.”  

Loki’s smirk widened into a genuine grin with each word.  Obviously, she’d been dreaming about him.  And not just dreaming _about_ him, but dreaming about fucking him passionately.  This story was becoming quite entertaining, if not extremely flattering.

“It came to a bit of a head when he discovered the sketches and evidence of my failed spell casting.  Also, I’d always kept my eyes open duringー” She paused, waving her hand. “Anyhow.  One day I closed them.  And from that point on, they were closed during….I’m just going to say it….sex.  Every time.  I wanted green, not brown, looking back at me. Then at the very public affair that was the festival of Dauða Nótt, or Death Night, on the first night of our eighth month, he confronted me about this _‘green-eyed’_ man.  It was quite ironic that this happened on the eve of the dark season.  While everyone was giving the typical ‘may you be well' greeting, he was greeting me with _‘whore!—you evil witch!’_  It was all very ugly.”  

Her eyes turned black, and Loki noted a burning smell as black smoke seeped from the ends of her hair.  Kissing her neck again and stroking her hair, the smoke dissipated.  He would seek out this pathetic whelp and _slaughter_ him.

“I became quite irate with him and his choice of words.  You and I both know that my magic is of a somewhat _wild_ nature, even now.  Unfortunately for Jöður, and the rest of the village, that bonfire exploded and the torches that surrounded the dinner became the rather nasty and deadly equivalent of flaming arrows.  Most were burned in the blast, some were killed—including Jöður.”  She stared blankly at Loki, devoid of any scrap of emotion for those she’d killed.  

Scoffing, he stared back, wide eyed, mouth agape. “You _killed_ him?”  

He didn’t know if he was impressed or disappointed.  He’d been looking forward to plotting the bastard’s death.  

Apathy clouded her features. “Not intentionally, but yes.  After that, Freya feared I would either be locked up or executed so she brought me here under the guise of magical studies.  Guise or not, I do have better control of my magic now.”  

Shaking his head, he clicked his tongue.  “I wouldn’t go _that_ far, Sig.”

Rolling her eyes, she hit him in the stomach, and the bed shook slightly with his chuckle.  

Her expression turned serious as she ran a finger from his throat to just below his right eye. “I knew.  Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew it was you when I saw you.”  

Turning his face, he kissed the palm lying against his cheek.

“From the moment I saw you in the throne room, I thought I knew you.  I just wasn’t sure until last night when your eyes were hovering above me.  It was _always_ you, Loki.  And I think I loved you from that first moment.”  

Reaching around the back of her head, he twisted his fingers in her hair and pulled her onto his lap, bringing her mouth to his.  

She spoke between his kisses. “Why won’t you just admit it?  I can feel it.  I know you love me.  I knowー”   

Pushing her back onto the black sheets, her words swallowed by his tongue, he leaned over her.  He pushed her legs apart and slipped his hips between them, rubbing his hand up her thigh.

_Dammit_.

She wanted him to say it, but he was shutting her up without saying a word.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Please, sit, dearest.”  Frigga patted the space next to her on the sofa.

Stomach churning with anxiety, Loki stood in the door frame of his father’s personal meeting quarters.  Odin had stood from his seat behind a sprawling gold accented cherry desk when Loki had appeared.  The whole scene was very foreboding.  His mother had plastered her gentle smile on her face, and his father looked as solemn as ever.  What had he done _now?_   At this point he had no idea what could’ve been the reason for his summoning.  He’d served his time for the damage to Sif, and he’d done nothing mischievous since the sentence had come to an end.  Well, that was if one did not consider what he’d been doing with Sigyn _mischievous_.  He’d taken none too kindly to being interrupted—panting against her, very nearly to climax—by the pounding on his doors.  Neither had she, for that matter.  She’d thrown a robe on and actually growled at the guard.  Fenrir would have been envious of the ferocious sound.  She could have spooked a bear.

“I would prefer to stay on my feet, Mother, thank you.”  He moved into the room slowly, eyes on his father who was gesturing him in with two fingers.  No, this was _not_ good.

Odin’s expression was something between sympathetic and stern. “My son.”  

Nodding at the king, Loki clasped his hands behind his back. “Father.”  

Odin walked around the desk and past Loki to sit by Frigga. “The time has come, Loki, for Thor to take the throne.  The date is set.  One fortnight from today.”  

Teeth clenching, Loki looked at the floor.  He unclasped his hands, running one through his hair, the other rubbing the back of his neck, and turning to face his parents, he dropped his hands, shrugging.

“Should I have prepared a concession speech?”  He couldn’t hide the sarcasm.  Though, in his mother’s presence, he preferred to keep it at bay.

Frigga’s eyes brimmed with tears as she stood, walking to her youngest, hands reaching for his.  “Loki, please don’t.”  

He looked at her, incredulous, tucking his hands behind his back once more. “Don’t what?  Don’t remind you of his arrogance?—his recklessness?—or perhaps his temper?  Why, he’d no sooner take the throne when Asgard would be at _war_ with another realm just for pissing him off!”  

Shaking his head to wake himself up—he was in a living _nightmare_ —he grabbed a goblet of mead, still full, on Odin’s desk, tossed it back and threw it off the balcony.

Frigga’s voice attempted to be the calm in the storm.  “Loki, dearest, please don’t resort to such crass words.”  

He laughed humorlessly. “I can do far worse than _piss,'_ Mother.”  

He was seething.  Positively livid.  His father’s voice rang in his ears— _You were both born to be kings._

Odin had risen to his feet and now stood toe to toe with his son. “I would remind you of _your_ temper.   _Your_ recklessness, Loki.  And do not talk to the _queen_ of Asgard with such disrespect.”  

Loki fumed.  A dangerous Seiður springing to life, his chest burned with bright green light aching to escape its flesh and bone cage.  

Frigga instinctively moved between the two men, her back to her son, hands on her husband’s chest. “Cease this, both of you!  You are father and son!”  She felt Loki’s heavy breathing on the back of her hair.  “Husband, please.  He is your _son.”_   Her hands did not move from Odin’s chest.  

Stern look writ on his face, Odin continued to stare at his youngest, unmoving, and spoke with thinly veiled anger.  “I’m sorry, but it was never you, Loki.”

Loki dropped his forehead to rest on Frigga’s shoulder.  There was nothing to be doneーnothing more to say, but he spoke anyway. “Please do inform me if I can be of any help in planning the _joyous_ occasion.”  

He’d done it again.  Poison was not meant to drip from his lips in front of his mother.  He threw up his hands and turned on his heel, and at the door he bowed respectfully for Frigga’s sake and left silently.

 

 

* * *

 

  
Sif gasped, sitting on a large, flat rock. “The air is so much _thinner_ up here.”  

Thor swept his arm out, gesturing at the view from the highest mountain peak of the Realm Eternal.  “It is stunning, though, is it not?”  

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes as an icy gust whipped his blond hair about his face.  Without thinking, Sif reached across to push his long locks behind his ear. Eyes wide, she quickly pulled her hand away, flushing with embarrassment.  

_Yes, the air is definitely thinner up here._  

Thor turned to her with not an ounce of jest in his eyes and pulled her hand back to his cheek.  He moved from the boulder he’d been relaxing on to sit beside her and kissed her. Heart pounding against her ribs, she opened her mouth as his hand tangled in the hair at the back of her neck.  Grabbing at his armored shoulders, she wished it hadn't been so cold so she could remove the metal garment and feel the rough skin that was pulled tight across his large defined muscles.  

His hands gripped her waist, pulling her into him as far as possible.  He needed to be in her.  Why had he taken her _anywhere_ other than his bedchamber?  What in the nine had he been thinking?!  

Her body temperature was rising quickly.  Ridding themselves of the horrible steel trappings might have been a good idea, after all.  She pulled at the clasps of his cape. Yanking the fur coat down from her shoulders desperately, he turned at the sound of cawing from above.  Huginn had appeared behind them.  

_Excellent timing, you cock blocking daft bird._  

He glared at the black avian whose gravelly voice sounded in his ears telling him that Odin had summoned him.  

Reluctantly and full of disappointment, Sif let go of him.  

Thor whispered into her ear, helping her off the rock, sending electric shocks throughout her body as they began their descent from the mountain. “This isn’t over.”  

 

 

* * *

 

 

Loki watched, green eyes narrowing, lithe muscles tensing, as his brother retraced his steps down the mountain with Sif in tow.  Sinir, sensing the seething rage rolling off of his master, bobbed his head anxiously underneath him.  

Loki stroked the beast’s neck, calming him. “That foolish brute will bring Asgard to its knees, Sin.  Soon we’ll be kneeling before Midgard’s barbaric humans.”  

Flaring his nostrils, glaring at the blond warrior and his— _lover_ , apparently—he spat.  

Sigyn, astride her black mare, Móða, appeared next to him.  “You think so?”  

His stallion nuzzled her horse’s nose.  Not removing his eyes from Thor as he disappeared from sight, Loki sighed. “I _know_ so.”  

With a flick of his wrist, their gloves dissipated and he wove his bare fingers with hers.  

“I admit that your logic is sound, Loki.  Mjölnir would do well to spend a day in the toolbox, after all, one cannot solve every political discourse with brute force.  Boring as diplomacy is, it is usually the best course of action.  I hardly imagine Thor is capable of withstanding such boredom for long.”  She trained her eyes at the forest not twenty yards hence wishing desperately to steal Loki away to Vanaheim just for the day.  She wanted to think only of him, be only with him for the day.  Escaping to her cliff would have been the perfect option.

Jaw set, he reached for her, pulling her into a tight hug.  “I cannot just _leave_ Asgard, Sig.”  

He wanted to leave.  He wanted to run away with her.  But he loved his home and refused to watch Thor destroy it with his idiotic rule.  He had to do something— _anything!_ —to keep it from happening.

Coy smile gracing her features, she whispered into his hair. “Stop reading my thoughts, Loki.  There are other more inviting places on my person for you to invade than my mind, are there not?”  

It was probably futile—the effort to distract him from the forthcoming coronation and his consequent miserable musings.  He did, at least, offer her a mischievous smile and kissed her nose, but all too soon he pulled away.  She sighed.

_It was worth a shot._

“I shall take you up on said invitation later, but Sig, I would appreciate solitude for the time being.”

Her shoulders slumped but she nodded.  “Of course.”  She clucked her tongue, and Móða hitched forward into a light gallop.  

Loki watched as she picked up speed, her black hair floating in the wind, and once she disappeared from sight, he turned Sinir to the forest and kicked him into full speed.  Flying through the trees, he smiled.  Sinir was agile as a cat, slicing through the maze of branches. It felt good— _liberating_ —to ride, to set aside the anger, just for a moment.  Freedom came to an abrupt halt when the frozen over opening in the boulder he’d discovered many years past came into view.  He hadn’t aimed for it.  He’d not even thought of it but as he neared the opening, excitement brewed in his stomach.  

_Jotunheim_.  

Clucking his tongue, Loki led his horse to the icy rock, a surge of green light escaping his fingers and melting the ice barrier.  He dismounted, tethering the chocolate colored stallion to the bare branch of a sturdy oak, and passed through the melted doorway with a low familiar, feminine voice ringing in his ears— _Don’t do anything stupid, love._

  

* * *

_["Burden (Mr FijiWiji Remix)" Subtact& Jay Rodger (chapter song)](https://youtu.be/61MhotDAZ5c?list=PL8ts83qUe2BE3q7SbLBdpPTa086gnwsvf) _


	9. Your End Is My End

Numbing cold.   _ Freezing _ cold.  It came over Sigyn as Móða carried her to the palace stables.  A fresh coat of snow had covered every surface in Asgard, but it wasn’t  _ that _ cold, not cold enough to give her frostbite, every bit of exposed skin having crusted over with a thin layer of ice so cold that it burned.  No.  She wasn’t freezing over due to the unusually cold winter.  This was something else altogether.

She pulled Móða to a stop, turning back to the forest.  Loki had disappeared from the powdery white clearing at the base of the mountain where Thor had been manhandling Sif.  If she weren’t so painfully cold, she would have laughed.  The blood bond allowed her to see through Loki’s eyes, albeit blurred and hazy, and his interpretation of his brother and Sif had very clearly been  _ manhandling _ .  In her opinion, Thor could manhandle whoever he wanted to as long as Loki damn well continued to manhandle her.  

It dawned on her that she could no longer feel Loki's emotions or see what he saw, and according to him, that only happened if they were in different realms.  But even if they couldn’t see through each other’s eyes or feel if they were sad or happy or any other number of emotions, they could still feel the physical sensations of their surroundings.

Furiously tugging the reins, she bolted for the forest.  Loki had left Asgard, and his destination was nearly giving her frostbite.  

_ Jotunheim _ .  

Surely, he hadn’t used the Bifrost.  Heimdall wouldn’t allow a prince of Asgard to go to Jotunheim alone, would he?   Squinting, she spotted horse tracks in the snow leading into the trees.  Was there a portal that led to that cold rock of a realm in the forest?  The zig zag pattern of the tracks was making her queasy, but a low velvety voice dulled the nausea instantly.

“Miss me already?”  Loki, astride Sinir, came up behind her silently, the snow muffling the sound of hooves.  

Relieved to see him alive and in one piece, with no apparent injuries, smirking at her, she reached for him.  She clung to him as though he’d been gone a great deal longer than twenty minutes, and once she’d had her fill of the embrace, she hit him hard in the chin.  

“What the Hel were you doing in Jotunheim?!  What if you’d been killed?!”  

Glaring at her, he grabbed her hand, and yanking her forcefully against him, he kissed her, his arms pulling her as close as the horses would allow. “Stop your whining, Sig.  I’m very much alive.”  He was breathless.  The trip had been exhilarating.  He’d come up with a plan, a  _ brilliant _ plan.   

She was determined not to let that tongue of his play with her head any longer. “What was the purpose of your little excursion then?  Sightseeing?”  

He only offered her his signature smirk. “Just a bit of fun, darling.”  

He was the picture of innocence.  She imagined Frigga’s hands had been quite full with her second son.  With those wide eyes and boyish smile, he must have gotten away with every nasty little trick.

She squinted, searching his face for the truth, coming up empty. “I don’t believe you.”

He’d locked up whatever dealings he’d had with the monsters and swallowed the key.  Snaking his arm around her waist, he pulled her onto the saddle behind him.  She reached around his neck, and turned his head, bringing his mouth to hers.  She would deal with the Jotunheim issue later.

He spoke against her lips. “No, Sig.  It’s near time for night meal.  There's time for that later.”  

Calling for Móða to follow, they galloped to the stables.

 

* * *

 

 

Thor was aggressively chewing on a large leg of a bird that Sigyn did not recognize as she and Loki approached the golden warrior and his friends at the head dining table.  Huge smile spreading across his face, the crowned prince stood and grabbed his younger brother by the shoulders, pulling him into a bone crushing hug.  

Loki slapped Thor on the back of his head and flashed him a bright smile as they sat. “Congratulations, brother.  I fear for Asgard like never before.”  

Resuming his assault on the leg of bird, Thor rolled his eyes and chuckled.  Loki plucked a goblet of mead from a passing tray, and swirling his finger in the honeyed beverage, it turned a deep crimson.  He sniffed at it, swirled again, and taking a sip, pleased with his work, he handed the heavy steel cup to Sigyn.

She blinked at it, shocked. “You turned that into wine for me?”  Taking a long drink, she melted into her seat, and Loki leaned into her, lazily resting his arm across the back of her chair, nodding.

Winking, he kissed her cheek. “It was nothing.”  

She downed the drink quickly and licked her lips, thoroughly enjoying the way Loki's chest rose and fell faster at the sight. “Mmmm.  Your tricks continue to be most convenient.”  

Noticing the group's empty goblets, Fandral shouted at a passing servant girl.  “More mead!”  The girl quickly poured another round for them, blushing as his hand grazed her backside, and scurried away.

Rolling her eyes, Sigyn pushed the mead to Loki and waited for him to fix the drink again. “Tell me, Fandral, is there a maidservant in Asgard who shall be spared from seeing the color of your bedsheets?”  

The dashing blond man tossed back his fifth drink within the hour and winked at her. “She has not... _ yet _ .  But once she visits them, they’ll be ripe with fresh red.”

Sigyn gagged on her wine, suddenly put off by its crimson hue. “Oh gods, you are disgusting, Fandral.  Was that comment necessary?”  

Loki cringed. "Tactless cretin.  We're trying to eat."

Seeing the face she made at her drink, Loki grabbed her cup, changing it to a freshly chilled white, and the alcohol having gone to her head, she reached for him, kissing him openly.

_ My god of mischief, I do adore that magical finger of yours,  _ she thought as loudly as possible.  

He shifted in his seat, adjusting his tightening breeches and stifled a moan as her tongue darted into his mouth.   _ By Hel _ ....he loved it when she called him that.

Breathless, he whispered in her ear. "I’d be happy to use my magical finger in a more private setting."

Thor made a face at their display. “Ugh, stop, please!  ‘Tis bad enough hearing of Fandral's sexual conquests.  Save it for your bedchambers, little brother.”  

Volstagg piped up between bites, chomping away at a block of cheese, looking very akin to a huge auburn rodent. “I don’t get it.  What’s wrong with red sheets?  It's a lovely color!"

Fandral laughed. "Really, Volstagg?"  

He made a lewd gesture to show the rotund warrior what he had meant, but Volstagg only raised his eyebrows and shrugged, still lost.  "What am I missing?"  

Loki rolled his eyes and rubbed a hand down his face.  The brute was more brainless than an ox.  Loki was nearly embarrassed  _ for _ him. “His sheets will turn red with the girl’s blood when she is fucked for the  _ first _ time, you giant buffoon."

Volstagg’s eyes widened as he nodded, turning to Sigyn. “Ah, yes.  I get it now.  Fandral is basically the male equivalent of a harlot, you know.”

She burst into stomach cramping laughter. “I’d already figured that out, but I’ll keep that in mind if he makes me an offer.”

Volstagg glanced back and forth between Loki and Sigyn. “But I thought you and Loki were...?”  

Loki feigned innocence, raising his eyebrows. “Thought we were what?”  

Sif coughed, her drink going down the wrong pipe, and Thor pat her back, wishing that he were deaf momentarily. “Oh gods, Volstagg, please don’t say anymore,” she rasped between coughs. “His brother is sitting right here!  Do you wish to make him vomit all over the floor?”

Hogin spoke quietly into his drink. “This conversation has taken a rather  _ lurid _ turn.”  

Volstagg continued chomping away as he spoke. "Well, we all saw them kissing!  Is it not a natural assumption to assume that they are... _ you know?" _

Smirking, Loki bit into an apple and spoke between chews. “We may be doing something like that.”

The group, having not expected Loki to grace them with an answer, much less a confirmation, looked at Sigyn, shocked, and Loki arched his neck, leaning on the back of his chair, continuing his assault on the apple.

Smirking, she corrected him. “We are doing something  _ exactly _ like that.”  

Sigyn couldn’t have been more pleased with the looks on their faces.  They looked at her like she’d just sprouted antlers.  Loki spit half chewed apple on his plate, and he stared at her momentarily before they both nearly fell out of their seats from cackling.  He composed himself and stood, grabbing her hand, pulling her with him.  

She shivered as he whispered against her neck, his hands gripping her hips. “Come on, Sig.  You need to  _ thank _ me for the wine.”

Waving goodbye to the wide eyed group of warriors, they headed for the doors.  The hair on the back of Loki’s neck stood up as they passed his favorite hawk, and turning to catch Theoric’s glare, he narrowed his eyes, listening to his thoughts.

_ He probably ties her up, shoves her to her hands and knees and rips her open with his— _

Loki shut the words out of his mind, lest he conjure a dagger, cut the soldier's limbs off one by one and slit his throat in front of the entire hall.  Pulling her closer, his hand firmly grasping her hip, he kissed her hair as they exited the hall and made for his chambers.

 

* * *

 

 

The garden, still iced over, was the location of Sigyn’s lesson with Loki the next day.  Since Frigga was busy with the coronation arrangements, he had offered to take over as her tutor.

Teeth chattering, she wrapped her thick cloak around the front of her body and hopped up and down on her feet. “Why can we not study indoors, Loki?  I can only stand so much cold before I succumb to frostbite.”  

Clad in his cold weather armor, Loki sat on his haunches and gestured for her to do the same. “I’m afraid today’s lesson must be performed outdoors, lest the palace workers experience the same fate as Jöður and your other toasted villagers.  Now conjure a fire for us before you  _ succumb to frostbite _ .”  Grinning, he blew into his hands, pulling the hood of his long leather armored jacket over his raven head.

Head shaking in protest, Sigyn jumped to her feet and threw up her hands. “Loki, I’ve told you before that I can  _ manipulate _ fire, but I cannot create it out of thin air.  I tried for hours with your mother.  I tire of reminding you.”  

Unbelievable.  Not five minutes into the lesson, and her substitute tutor had already exasperated her.  She much preferred him teaching her new sexual positions over teaching her magic.  Her mind drifted to the night before, her eyes glazing over in the process.

Seeing the images of himself naked in her mind, he smirked, grabbed her gloved hands and pulled her back to the ground.  “That'll be enough of  _ that _ .  Now tell me, where did the fire that ruined Sif’s hair come from?”  

He continued his hold on her hands as she scowled, the unpleasant memory replacing her blissful train of thought and sending a wave of nausea through her stomach.

“I have absolutely no idea how I did that.”  Clearing her throat, she took down the picture of the war goddess' burnt body and hung it on the back wall of her mind.

“Sig, if you did it once, then you can do it again.  You have the talent for conjuring fire but you have no  _ skill _ .  That’s why I'm here.  Natural talent is useless if you don’t have skill.  Do you think I just woke up one day and conjured a double of myself?”

“Of course not.  I know it takesーwait, what?  I thought you could only make an illusion of yourself.  Are you talking about something corporeal?”  Her jaw dropped then, gaping as a second Loki sat beside her and draped his arm across her shoulder.  “What in the name of Odin...?”

She marveled at the attention to detail.  Every fine line, every pore, every little speck of blue in his emerald eyes, it was all there.  

Curious, she moved closer to the second Loki, despite her hesitance to touch him. “Can you feel what he feels?”  

Loki flicked his wrist and the double, smirk playing on his handsome face, kissed her, enjoying the blush that spread across her cheeks. “If he were only an illusion then, no, I wouldn’t feel it.  Your hand would go straight through him.  An illusion isn’t real.  It's a visual lie, but he is not an illusion, thusly, you can touch him just as you would me, and what he feels, I feel.”

The double wrapped his arms around her, and she watched Loki from the corner of her eye.  His hands were open, palms up, twisting in slow circles, in front of him, eyes narrowed at the double.  Disconcerted, she pulled away from the too real second Loki, and he dropped his hands.

“I don’t recall any of your mother’s spellbooks mentioning this sort of magic.”  Pursing her lips, she poked the double as he dissipated into a bright green light.

Loki crawled up behind her, pulling her back against his chest, his legs encircling her. “Oh, yes, they do, just not explicitly.  He is a complex cocktail of mind control, teleportation, the elements, conjured light and disappearance, and siren magic.  Her books list each of these under different headings—huga stjórna, vöruflutningar á huga, eldur, vatn, jörð, vindur, ljós, hverta, and sírenu seiður.  According to those books, you should never combine unique seiðr because it turns into black magic, which can ‘result in death if the wielder is inexperienced.’    He is a delicate balance, and it is exhausting to maintain his existence.  He is my original recipe, if you will, and I worked on him for two hundred years before I measured the ingredients successfully.”  

“But black magic is illegal in Asgard.  What happens if you are caught?  And what did you mean by siren?  Does he lead ships astray and to their end with beautiful songs?”

Loki laughed into her hair, both amused and flattered by her concern.  “The likelihood of being caught is slim to none as he is an exact copy of me.  There is not a soul in the nine realms that could spot the difference between us.  Not even you.  Darling, it’s not as though I traipse all over Asgard with him at my side.  He goes in my stead if I wish it.  And, no, he does not lead ships astray.  His purpose is to distract, to confuse, to kill if needs be.”

She pulled his arms further around her waist, panic rising in her chest at the thought of his doppelganger, for lack of a better word, inadvertently taking Loki from her permanently. “If you can feel what he feels, what happens to you if he is killed?”  

Feeling her anxiety, he kissed her cheek, shushing her. “The point of impact stings, but no physical injury to my person occurs.”  Pulling her hood back, moving his mouth from her cheek to her neck, he ran a hand up her torso, his fingers teasing her breast, and he nipped her ear. “I have yet to test his abilities in bed.”  

“I’m open to experimenting with him as long as his purpose isn’t to kill me.   _ Has _ he killed anyone?”

Loki sighed and dropped his hands from her.  He’d said too much and his attempts at hiding the more devious deeds of his conjured twin were proving futile.  He had been ready to end this lesson early and experiment with her and said twin.  

He chose his words carefully, hoping that his honesty would encourage her to drop the subject. “Not in Asgard.  He is talented at...running errands...if you will, for me.”

Swiveling her head, she glared at him.  “Does he run errands in  _ Jotunheim?” _

He stared blankly at her, his lip twitching.  “Let it go, Sigyn.”

She bristled at his use of her full name rather than the more affectionate  _ ‘Sig’ _ that he’d taken to calling her.  Shaking her head, she returned to the more important matter.  If he’d sent the double, he must have assessed that the danger was too great to risk death.  Then why would he have gone at all?  He must have interacted with the Jotuns and for what purpose?  Was he planning to do something to Thor?  Surely not.  He loved Thor, even if he was jealous of him.

She stood, and pacing across the icy grass, running a hand through her hair, she laughed humorlessly. “How could I possibly  _ let it go, _ Loki?  If I’d taken a trip to the frost giants home unaccompanied, would you not beg for answers?  How can you be so careless?  So reckless?!  I’ve bound myself to you, Loki!  If  _ you _ die,  _ I _ die!”

He was on his feet before she could continue, one hand at the back of her neck, the other clamping down over her mouth. “Do you wish all of Asgard to hear you?  Desist your  _ raving _ , girl!”  He pulled his hand away from her mouth and put a finger to his own, giving her a warning look.

Shoving him away, her eyes filled with hot tears.  _ “Girl? _  Your terms of endearment are truly astounding, your highness.  Why do you push me away?  Is it because I care enough about your life to wish that you not bargain with it?”  

She made to return to her chambers, but he wouldn't have it.  Yanking her back to him, he trailed his hand up and down her spine, her body shaking as she pulled at the collar of his coat, her breath scalding his throat.  

His words were a harsh whisper. “I’m no fool.  I don’t bargain with my life.  Oh, and let me explain one more thing.  The blood bond wouldn’t kill you just because I was killed, Sig. That’s not how it works.” At least, he  _ hoped _ that wasn’t how it worked.

“I’m not talking about the damn blood bond, Loki!  I’ve given you my heart, and you will break it, break  _ me _ , if you get yourself killed!”  

There it was.   _ Love _ .  It was the most incredible thing that had ever happened to him, and at the same time, the absolute  _ worst _ .

Angry, he pushed her back and squared his shoulders, nostrils flaring, his chest heaving. “And you wonder why I refuse to say that I love you?” Glaring, jaw clenched, he shook his head.  “The frost giants could not with all their strength destroy me as you could.”

Wrecked by his words, she fisted and unfisted her hands, successfully containing her dangerous magic, but the effort made it impossible to control the force of her arm.  She slapped him with every ounce of anger and hurt that she was feeling, his head whipping back from the impact.  

“You fucking  _ coward _ ,” she said, taking off across the frozen grounds and disappearing into the palace.

He willed himself to squelch the desire to run after her, throw her over his shoulder, return to his chambers, and force her, with all the love his body could give her, to forget his cruel words, forget  _ Jotunheim _ .  He hated that he couldn’t turn back time to two minutes ago and stop himself from saying those things.  He’d never meant to hurt her.  

* * *

 

 

He shouldn’t have been surprised when she did not come to him that night.  Nonetheless, he’d hoped she would, if not for any reason other than to satiate her physical desire for him. But  _ dammit all to Hel _ , what she felt, what  _ he _ felt, was infinitely more than physical desire.  

Head in his hands, he sank into the hearth sofa.  He had to find her.  He had to make it right.  She had been right.  He  _ was _ a coward.  Not wanting to face her pain, he’d ignored her emotions after their fight, closing off his access to the bond and her thoughts.  He stood, stumbling to the balcony in his wrecked state, and staring at the moons slowly brightening across the night sky above his home, he gripped the ledge.  Leaning over the stone, he looked toward her still dark chambers.  It had been hours!  Where was she?!  Seething at his own cowardice, he slammed his fist into a nearby pillar.  Defeated and desperate to see her and apologizeー _ for the rest of his life _ ーhe opened his body and mind, scanning the golden halls and rooms for her.  

It didn’t take long before the smell of books filled his nostrils.  Her mind was racing.  A horse out the gate could not have kept up.  Face screwing up in misery, he struggled to sort through the chaos that he’d caused within her.  He listened, feeling every scrap of pain rip her apart, the air in his lungs transforming into her black smoke, and he choked on her despair, gasping for air.

_ I’m going to lose him. They’ll kill him.  You fell in love with the dark prince of Asgard.  What did you expect?  I’m a fool, a fool, an absurdly arrogant fool to believe it possible that he could love me.  But he does love me.  But not enough, not enough.  I cannot lose him.  I should go home.  But I can’t.   _ _ He’s here.  I can’t leave him.  I’d die without him.  Maybe I should put us out of our misery and kill us both.  Maybe that’s why he went to Jotunheim.  He’s going to kill us because it’s too much.  Love destroys us.  I’m going to jump off that Bifrost, I swear it. _

He couldn’t take another second.  He blasted open the doors and ran, his long legs covering the long distance from his corridor to the library in a quarter of the time it would take any other Æsir.  Even Thor with all his physical prowess could not have matched Loki’s speed.  He came to an abrupt halt at the doors of the book filled hall when he heard a deep voice... _ too _ deep to belong to Sigyn.

“I’ll say it again, Sigyn.  He is evil and cruel and will be the death of you.  He can only bring you sorrow.  Nothing more.”

“And what do you know of my fate, Captain?”

_ “Theoric. _  My name is Theoric.  I beg of you, Sigyn, address me as such!”

“Very well,  _ Theoric _ , what can you possibly know of my fate?  Jealousy is the least becoming of emotions.  I know you desperately want to be him.  But you can never be him.  I will have him and no other.  Now, for Hel’s sake, leave me be!”

“Please, please,  _ please. _  Just listen to me—”

“Take your hands  _ off _ me.”

“Not until I have your ear.”

“Theoric,  _ I swear, _ if you don’t let go of me, I willー”

Seething, Loki’s eyes blew wideー _ That hawk has his hands on her?  Theoric is touching  _ my _ Sig?! _

Teeth bared, Loki threw the doors open with such force that they came off their hinges.  Theoric let go his hold of Sigyn’s arms and stared in poorly veiled fear, stepping back, hands raised as if in surrender, as Loki stalked toward him.  

Sigyn positioned herself in between the men. “Loki,  _ don’t _ .  You and I both know that he could not do so much as scratch me without succumbing to the same fate as Sif.”

She grabbed his chin, turning his head to face her, but his eyes stayed fixed on Theoric.  She had to halt the deadly confrontation in its tracks before it ran off the rails and crashed, effectively sending Loki to the dungeons for killing the captain of Odin’s personal guard.  

Loki was overwhelmed with rage, with jealousy, with the fierce need to wrap his arms around her, to save her, to protect her, and pulling her into his much taller frame, he snarled, “Do you desire death so much, Theoric, that you would seek to take what I have already claimed as my own?”  His sharp dagger, which he had unsheathed from his boot upon hearing their voices through the doors, glinted, pointing at Theoric.  

_ Claimed as his own? _ ーSigyn bristled at the insinuation that she was some sort of possession but shook it off.  That was a discussion for another time.

Sick of hearing the men who knew of no better solution than to rip each other apart, she snapped,  _ “Enough!”   _

Snatching the blade from Loki’s hand, she turned it sideways and shoved it against his chest.  Finally meeting her angry eyes, he returned the weapon to his boot.

She spoke firmly, her eyes never leaving Loki’s. “I suggest you leave, Theoric.  That is, if you wish to keep all your parts.”  

The soldier, a sneer plastered on his face, gave them a wide berth and exited the hall silently.  Still fuming, Loki put his other arm around her and with a surge of green, they appeared in his chambers.

* * *

 

He couldn't wait another second.  He needed to have her now.  She was  _ his _ .  He felt the sudden need to mark her somehow.  Ignoring the glare she gave him, he shoved her against the wall. 

“All of that could have been avoided if only you had come to me.”  His mouth hovering over the skin below her ear, Loki gathered her skirts up around her waist, his hands sliding up her legs.

Attempting to push the dress back down, she glared at him, thoroughly pissed.  "Just for once,  _ no _ , Loki.  I am so tired of this!  I will not let you  _ fuck _ me after that display in the garden!  After your biting words?  Are you mad?"  

She fought him, pressing her hands against his strong body.  Growling, he yanked her head back and kissed her hard.  She hissed against his teeth at the pain he'd inflicted on her scalp.  Gripping her backside, he hoisted her up so forcefully that she knew she would have bruises.  

He breathed against her ear as he unstrapped his leather breeches and pulled himself free, relief flooding him without the painful constriction.  "I know you don’t mean that.  You may be angry, but you still want this."  

She shrieked as he shoved her further and too hard against the wall. "Loki, I want you to stop!"  

"Pretty little liar, you are, Sig,” he gasped between shallow breaths, one hand gripping her wrists above her head, the other ripping the top of her dress open, his eyes roaming over her exposed body. “You do  _ not _ want me to stop.  You can’t hide it.  I can feel it."  Eyes meeting hers, he held her steady.  

_ Fucking blood bond! _ ーshe grit her teeth angrily, wishing she actually  _ could _ kick herself. __

She could put on a great poker face, but there was no hiding her true emotions. Despite his behavior, she still ached for him.  Her response to him was  _ absurd _ .  Panting heavily, her resolve losing the war, she wrapped her legs around his hips.  He was right.  There would be no denying him.  She wanted him badly.  Groaning into her mouth, he thrust into her.  She moaned, unbelievably angry with her body’s deep need for him.   _ Only _ him.  He let go of her wrists, and she took advantage of her freed hands, yanking the hair at the back of his head just as hard as he had hers.

A deep groan rumbled in his chest as her teeth pulled at the skin of his throat.  _ "Sig..."   _ He grabbed her chin and brought her mouth to his in a deep kiss.  Pulling back long enough to catch his breath, he exhaled as his hips continued bucking into her. "You are  _ mine _ ..."  

Her voice dying in her throat, she could only nod in agreement.  She  _ did _ belong to him, but this wasn’t one sided.  Loki belonged to  _ her _ .  She had marked him, too.  

He hissed, his head falling back, mouth agape, and came to his own end.  Holding onto each other, her legs still encircling him, he took her to the bed.  He fumbled to push the furs back, stripped them of their garments, and pulled her into the sheets, tangling his long limbs with hers.  Drifting into a dreamless sleep, barely conscious, he felt her breath against his ear, her thoughts piercing every cell in his body, leaving him bloodied and broken in pieces.

 _If you bring only sorrow, then so be it.  I will never love another._  

* * *

_["I Found" Amber Run (chapter song)](https://youtu.be/PbSZhGONRBg?list=PL8ts83qUe2BE3q7SbLBdpPTa086gnwsvf) _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear here, Loki isn’t forcing himself on Sigyn. He knows her true feelings through their bond. I wouldn’t want anyone to misinterpret the last part.


	10. Spin Me a Web of Lies

“I do not understand how the other women can stand to wear this every day,” Sif muttered to herself, standing before the full length mirror in her washroom, adjusting the wide silver belt with feathers engraved into the shining metal and smoothing the navy satin skirt that clung to her long legs.  She scowled at her reflection and returned to her bedchamber to pull on her knee high formal boots, criss-crossing the long straps over the black suede up her calf. “This looks positively  _ ridiculous.” _

“Well,” Thor said, appearing in the doorway, “I’ve never seen you in anything quite this  _ fetching.” _  He crossed the room, brought her to her feet and spun her in a slow circle, pulling her flush against his armored torso.

Twisting her fingers in his long blond locks, she molded her body to his. “A crowned prince should not barge into a woman’s chambers withoutー”

He silenced her with a kiss and pulled back. “I must have missed the propriety lectures at the academy.  We have just enough time, Sif.” His breath was hot on her neck as he pulled at the slit in the skirtーoh if that wasn’t the most  _ convenient _ invention in the history of garment makingーexposing her thigh.

Frigga appeared in the doorway looking down at her hands.  _ “Ahem.” _

Her firstborn and the woman in his arms instantly put several feet between each other.

Eyeing her son, she spoke firmly. “A soon to be king cannot be late to a ball in his honor on the eve of his coronation.”

Sif blanched at Frigga’s words, horrified that Thor's mother had witnessed their foreplay.  The elegant queen offered her hand to her son.  Reluctant to leave Sif’s side, he sighed and tucked his mother’s hand in the crook of his arm, Sif trailing behind them as they made for the celebration hall.

* * *

 

Loki stood behind Sigyn, his arms encircling her waist, outside the lead glass main doors of the celebration hall.  She leaned her weight into him, watching the dancing nobility on the other side of the crystal clear barrier, a smile creeping across her face while drums pounded, hands clapped, and dresses swept across the shining black and gold floor.  

Holding her stomach, she spun in his hold.  “My insides are churning into butter.”  

She played with the gold collar of his formal armor and stood on her tip toes, breathing in the peppermint and woodsmoke scent of his throat, hoping it would calm her nerves.  

He tightened his grip on her waist.  By the _ Norns, _ he was going to ravish her right there in the middle of the hall if she didn’t stop that instant.

Leaning his head back slightly, he gently removed her hands from his neck and placed them around his waist. “Nervous, are we?”

He kissed the top of her head, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.  Much to his satisfaction, her dark green satin gown sported a generously low neckline.  Twisted golden cords cinched her waist, and two gold serpents coiled into one, forming a circlet atop her head.  She nervously tugged at the pencil thin skirt, pulling the hem above her brown ankle boots, their thin gold heels glinting in the dim light of the torches lining the hall.  Marveling at the stunning woman he held, his blood became lava rushing down the mountain that was his body, pooling at the top of his legs.  Eyes darkening, his mind raced with thoughts of ripping that pretty dress off, and he leaned his forehead against hers.

Tightening her hold on him, she grinned. “Believe me when I say that as much as I want you to spin me across the floor just so I can watch that regal green cape swirl in all its glory, I’d prefer to do exactly what you are thinking about right now.”  

He leaned down to kiss her, but stopped at the sound of footsteps.  They turned to see Odin, Frigga, Thor, and Sif approaching.  Sigyn groaned.  She’d seriously considered dragging Loki to his chambers.  He was the god of  _ mischief _ , for Hel’s sake.  He  _ should _ be late to the coronation ball for less than honorable reasons.  

Loki bowed, kissing his mother’s hand. “Hello, Mother, you look beautiful as always."  

He resumed his posture and nodded to his brother and father before kissing Sif's hand as well. "Thor.  Father.  Sif...nice  _ dress _ . I was quite unaware that you had breasts.  Sigyn and I thought you might be no shows.  It took you long enough."

Scowl writ on her face, Sif snatched her hand back.  Winking at Sigyn, a smirk played at the corners of Loki's mouth.  She rolled her eyes, elbowing him in the side while Frigga and Thor threw warning glances at him, and Odin, clearly annoyed, gestured for his youngest to enter the ballroom.  

Loki offered both arms to the young women, and Sif glared at him, taking it reluctantly.  "I promise to be a good boy, Sif."

"You had better be." Thor spoke low, glaring at his younger brother.  

Loki nodded, his smirk widening into a full smile. "Shall we, ladies?”  

The two women, on either side of Loki, moved underneath the guards’ arched swords and into the drunken dance filled hall.  Odin took Frigga’s arm, escorting her through the doors behind Thor, the guards announcing their arrival amidst deafening cheers and applause.

* * *

 

When they'd entered the ballroom, Loki had led Sigyn to the buffet where they’d picked at the fruit trays, and then he'd quickly pulled her through the dancing bodies and had swept her across the floor.  Many young warriors had attempted to cut in, but Loki had only increased his hold on her, blatantly ignoring their requests.  Eventually, Odin had called him aside and scolded him for being antisocial.  

Now, staring at Loki from the beverage table on the other side of the hall, Sigyn sampled the hard cider which was, thankfully, being served alongside the usual mead.  He was currently dancing with another woman, and Sigyn had the urge to grab the woman by her perfect golden hair, drag her to the cold balcony, and throw her over the ledge.  Anyone with half a brain could have seen that she and Loki were  _ together _ , to put it delicately.  She was wearing green and gold and  _ serpents _ , for Hel’s sake.  

He did, to her relief, seem incredibly bored.  He held the other woman stiffly, keeping a good foot and a half between them.  Sigyn scowled, well aware of the adolescent and possessive nature of her reaction, as he was handed off to another irritatingly well-endowed woman.  

Dressed in the garb of the Crimson Hawks, a blond man came up behind Sigyn and tapped her shoulder. “Has Prince Loki filled your entire dance card for the evening, Lady Sigyn?”  

He’d startled her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, choking on her drink.  Coughing and swiping the cider from her chin, she turned to face him, genuinely happy to have a distraction from her brooding. “Lucky for you, good sir, he has not.”    

He stood to his full height, shorter than Loki by a few inches, and brought her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles with unabashed enthusiasm. “You may call me Gylfi.  I am a lieutenant of the Crimson Hawks, my lady.  I have been watching you all night, and you are the fairest lady in all of Asgard.”

She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at the camp line.   _ Fairest lady in all of Asgard? _   She wanted to laugh.  It was a  _ touch _ melodramatic for her taste.  Did that line work on the other women?  Probably.  

He’d not released her had yet and was standing too close for comfort.  She checked the floor, spinning with dancers, for Loki, hoping he hadn’t seen the attentive soldier.  Nothing could ruin the night quite like a blood splattering  _ murder _ .

“Lead on, Gylfi.  Let us see if you are as skilled at dancing as he is.”

Dancing with the officer, she scanned the room again for Loki's green cape.  Where was he?  She’d just seen him not five minutes ago.  She missed several steps in a row before pulling away from the soldier, her words curt.

“Forgive me, Gylfi.  My attention is elsewhere and has given me two left feet, apparently. Thank you for the dance.”

From across the room, she made accidental eye contact with Theoric, and setting his drink on a passing tray, he started in her direction.

“For the love, not  _ again,”  _ she grumbled under her breath. Hurrying in the opposite direction, she found Thor and his friends and slipped her hand into the crook of Fandral’s arm.

Smiling broadly, he slid the same arm around her waist and looked behind him, somewhat nervous. “Where is your dark suitor, fairest one?  Surely he would not approve of such affectionate gestures.  Though I must admit I rather like it.”

“Yes,” Thor interrupted, eyes sweeping the room as Sif planted a kiss on his cheek, “where is my brother?”  

“It is unfortunate that he is not wearing his horns,” Volstagg chimed in, his mouth, for once, devoid of food. “It would be so much easier to spot him.”  

Giddy from the alcohol, Sif made a pair of horns with her first fingers. “His helmet is absolutely  _ ridiculous.” _

Downing her fourth goblet of mead, Sif openly grabbed Thor by the neck, pulling his mouth to hers.  His eyes widened but crinkled with a smile, his hand massaging the small of her back as he whispered and nipped her ear. “I think that mead has gone to your head, Sif.”  

Sigyn gagged, leaning further into Fandral. “I do believe you once said  _ ‘Ugh, stop, please...save it for your bedchamber’ _ to your brother.  Kindly heed your own words.”  

Snuggling further into Fandralーall for show, of courseーshe wrapped her other arm around his waist and snatched a mug of cider from a passing tray as Theoric came to their party and offered his hand to her. “May I have this dance, Lady Sigyn?”  

She wanted to ask if he’d gone mad.  Surely he wasn’t this dense.  Instead, she simply shook her head, trying to keep a cordial tone despite her annoyance.

“I’m afraid that Fandral has already asked for that privilege, Captain.  Forgive me.” She whisked the blond warrior away, clutching his waist tightly.

Fandral pulled a face. “I feel quite used, but if you wish me to take over  _ all _ of Loki’s duties, I shall sacrifice my entire evening.” He winked, leading her through the next dance.  

Lost in her thoughts, she ignored the blatant sexual innuendo.  She shuddered to think of dancing with Theoric.  Loki would have cut off his head and served it on a gold platter at Thor’s coronation meal.  Not that he would have seen anything.  He was nowhere to be found apparently.  Where in the nine had he gone?  Her question was answered when her skin winced underneath a sudden sheen of ice.

Fandral, brow furrowed, dropped her hand and pulled away to look at her. “Odin’s ravens, Sigyn, darling, you are absolutely freezing!  It nearly hurts to touch you.  That is frighteningly unnatural.  Shall I escort you to Eir to determine the cause?”  

He took her from the dance floor, rubbing her arms to calm her shivering.  Shaking her head, she pulled away and without a word, left for Loki’s chambers.  When he returned from his excursion to Jotunheim,  she would damn well get an explanation from him.

* * *

 

If only an illusion would have been enough.  Visual lies practically sustained themselves, with little to no effort from him, for long periods.  Unfortunately, the frost giants were much smarter than their loincloths and bare feet suggested.  They would have seen right through it.

When he’d first ventured into the frozen realm via the forest portal after Sigyn had left him at the foot of the mountain, Loki had flicked his wrist and in a flash of green light, he’d enshrouded himself in the guise of a palace guard.  However, fooling the Jotun king, Laufey, would take more than a convincing illusion, so he’d stealthily returned to the portal and uttered the spell to conjure a double. Though it couldn’t be  _ his _ double.  He’d needed a different body, lest something go awry and Laufey send a legion of his monster race looking for him.  He had not yet learned the formula for conjuring a new person, that is, one who did not actually exist in reality.  He’d wracked his brain, searching for a disposable soul, and had landed upon the  _ perfect _ candidate.  

When a convincing, though not exact, replica of Theoric had approached the king, Loki had waited within the portal, watching through the eyes and hearing through the ears of the conjured hawk.  It was exhausting enough to conjure his own double, but to make a double in the form of someone other than himself was pure torture.  He’d bent over, clinging to the icy cavern walls of the portal, trying to catch his breath and keep down his dinner as ‘Theoric’ bargained with them.

 

_ “I shall return on the eve of the heir’s coronation and bring you to the vaults.  Your invasion will go unnoticed as the people will have indulged far too much in their mead. You shall hide within the vault until the ceremony begins the next day, for then the guards will have dwindled in their numbers in order to behold the new king.  As Captain of the Hawks, I will order a change of guard and shall take post at the vault.  You can then retrieve your Casket and return to Jotunheim.” _

_ Laufey, eyes narrowed, had stood from his frozen throne.  _ _ “How shall we return undetected?”   _

_ “A militia has already formed against the thunder god.  I shall ensure your return with their aid.” _

_ “And what of this militia?  You would surely be sending them to their deaths.  The Allfather would have them executed.  Is that a price you are willing to pay?” _

_ “Yes.  A few hundred Asgardians killed is hardly worth batting an eyelash over if it would mean saving the entire realm from the heir’s idiocy.  Prince Thor is a fool.  He cannot replace the Allfather.  Asgard would fall under his rule.  When you invade the vaults, not only will his coronation be ruined, but his desire for retaliation will prove to Odin what many of us already know: Thor is not ready to be king.  He will never be ready.  Odin is weary in his old age and does not want war.  He prefers diplomacy.  He will not attack if he believes you won't use the Casket for realm domination but only as a means to restore Jotunheim to its former glory.  It would take some convincing, but it can be done.  I realize that sneaking into Asgard through a secret forest portal will make the convincing a bit more difficult.  But what choice did you have?  All you ever wanted was to restore your home.  Or so you can claim.  Odin has grown soft.  I imagine with a pleading look you can tug at his heart strings.  And part of your treaty can be to keep the location of the portal secret.  Do I have your word that you will not use it against Asgard?  I do this in hopes of keeping the peace treaty in tact." _

_ “This plan is foolhardy at best.  Keep the portal secret as part of a treaty?  Do you think your king is an imbecile?” _

_ “I have been his captain for over a century.  He has changed much since you last had conflict with him.  He is not as power hungry as he once was.  He wishes to protect, to keep peace.  Your treaty has lasted for centuries.  You’ve not once betrayed his trust.” _

_ “And what of Heimdall?  How did he not spot you coming through this portal?  How will he not see my men coming through?  And if this plan works, and we want the portal kept secret, why wouldn’t he aim his eyes to the forest?” _

_ “Many of the militia are master sorcerers.  They aided me.  They shall aid you.  And when they are executed, their secrets will die with them.  They are willing to die for this cause.” _

_ “I do not wish to conquer the realms.  I only wish to restore my own.  We lost our power because we attempted to take over Midgard.  I accept your offer.  Heed this warning though, Captain of the Hawks.  If we are unsuccessful, if war comes to Jotunheim, we will have your life.” _

_ “Oh, I’m counting on it.” _

 

When  _ Theoric _ had returned to the portal, Loki had wanted to slit his throat.  The double had been such a convincing version of the pathetic hawk.  But he'd chosen to dissipate his form instead, not desiring to feel the slice in his own neck.  He’d returned to the forest just in timeーSigyn had nearly discovered the portal.  

But now, as the hawk’s double made good on his promise and escorted three Jotuns along the outskirts of the city, Loki controlling his movements from the empty stables, the pain of sustaining the double, of enshrouding them in an invisible cloak, was worth it.  He was gleeful, despite the ache pounding away at the top of his spine.  He watched with narrow eyes, his wrists slowly turning, as the hawk, the monsters in tow, slipped unseen, even from Heimdall, through the guards’ quarters below the palace gate.  Safely arriving in the vault, still invisible to the soldiers pacing the cavernous hall, the Jotuns disappeared within the shadows, and Loki smirked as  _ Theoric _ dissipated and trekked back to the palace.

The festivities were still in full swing, from the sound of it.  Cheers, laughter, and loud music echoed across the cold wind as Loki climbed the stone wall below his chambers and jumped over the ledge.  He barely made contact with the ground when a dark figure assaulted him.  Shaking his head, trying to get his bearings, he squatted low, his dagger unsheathed.  Hearing her thoughts, realizing who his attacker had been, he returned the blade to his boot as she fell to her knees in front of him, her arms strong, squeezing the air from his lungs as she wrapped them around his neck.

“Why?!”  She didn’t need to explain her question.

He knew why she was crying into his neck and clinging to his shoulder armor.  Why did he keep forgetting the bond?!  He would never get away with anything all because he’d bitten her in one moment of passion!  

Kissing her cheek, he lifted her and carried her into his fire lit chambers.  He set her down on the hearth sofa and began the process of unbuckling, unhooking, unstrapping, and unclasping the many fastenings that held his formal armor to his lean frame.

"Let it go, Sig.  For the love, just let it go.  Look at me.”  He held his arms out perpendicular to his body, palms up, and spun in a slow circle.  “Not even a scratch.”

She felt the fire burning hotter beneath her skin as he flopped on the bed, refusing to speak. “Enough with the secrecy, Loki.  I want to know why.  What business do you have with Jotunheim?" She fumed when he didn't respond.  _ "Answer me!”   _

She wanted to beat it out of him.  She wanted to split his skull, pry it open, dig through his brain, and screw it back together once she’d found the answers he kept refusing to give. She felt sick in every way that one could be sick.  Her head pounded.  Every joint, every muscle, every bone screamed.  It felt as though Fenrir was sitting on her chest.  Her throat was dry, and she choked on her coughs.  Nausea wreaked havoc within her core.  She wondered idly what Loki would do if his spotless fur rugs were soiled with her vomit.  

In response to her questions, he had the  _ gall _ to shake his head and actually grin at her.  

And that did the trick.  All control was lost.  Her black smoke not only pooled at the hem of her dress, but rushed out from her fingers, from the ends of her hair, and enshrouded her as the flames within the fireplace shot out across the room, dangerously near Loki.  The enchanted green flames on the chandelier that hung above his bed grew until the iron began to melt from the heat, the hot metal dripping onto his bed covers.  

His eyes widened in horror as the huge and heavy light shook and fell before he could register that he needed to move.  She screamed as the wrought iron and flames crashed onto him.  Throwing her hand out in front of her face, black mist flew across the room and onto the flames of the chandelier before they could burn Loki.  Instantly, the flames dissipated into smoke and ash, and she ran to him to help pry the heavy iron off him.  Groaning, he rolled over once she’d been successful in her attempts.

“Let me see!” she shrieked, lifting his arm to get a better look wishing he’d not stripped off his armor. “Are you bleeding?  Are you hurt?”

At least he’d left his breeches on.  He had scratches, and bruises were forming across his torso, but other than that, he was surprisingly uninjured.  How had he not burned at all?  How had that heavy chandelier only left scratches?  Asgardians were strong for certain, but he should have come out with at least a broken bone!  That chandelier had to weigh upwards of seven hundred pounds!  She shook her head, confused.  He then started laughing and pulled her on top of him, his hands gripping her waist, his hips rocking up as she straddled him.

She struggled against him, unconvincingly attempting escape. “What the Hel is  _ wrong _ with you?  Here I am, terrified, thinking I’ve pulled a Sif on you, and all you can think about is your cock?”   

“You  _ did _ pull a Sif,” he said, delight and admiration evident in his tone, “and it was amazing, albeit slightly terrifying, to watch.” He rolled them, positioning himself over her, and flashed her a dazzling smile. “The power that flows through your veins is unbelievably arousing to me, Sig.  That smoke swirling around you, your hair whipping about your face, your eyes darkening.  _ By Hel…”  _ His pants were becoming far too tight.

She pushed weakly at his chest. “Get off me, you idiot.”  

She’d meant it to sound genuine, but she was a terrible liar, apparently.  Her voice was becoming raspy as he kissed her neck.

“Loki, you can’t keep doing this.”  

She was beginning to think that she had no resolve at all.

“You can’t shut me up with sex every time.”  

_ Oh yes, I can, _ he mused as he pulled down the sleeves of her dress.

* * *

_["So High" Ghost Loft (chapter song)](https://youtu.be/uy8MfFvFEEY?list=PL8ts83qUe2BE3q7SbLBdpPTa086gnwsvf) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Laufey seems like an absolute fool to agree to the plan, but he is desperate. I can’t emphasize enough just how desperate he is to restore Jotunheim. He and his people are basically just wasting away on their giant frozen rock.


	11. He Is Not Ready

"By Hel, the entire realm must be in attendance," Sigyn mumbled to herself, standing in the inner circle, reserved for nobility and foreign dignitaries, of the coronation hall.

There was, even within her extensive vocabulary, no word grand enough to describe the hall. Dead center within the palatial stadium, a shinier and larger replica of Odin's throne stood proud. The official throne room could, at most, hold a thousand bodies.  But this place, this impossibly huge arena that formed the entire foundation of the palace, housed at least a hundred thousand.

Looking past the sea of Asgardians dressed in their finest garb to the cloudless sky, Sif adjusted her new polished silver vambrances. "Tis a good thing it is not raining."

Fandral held a mirror, fixing imagined flyaways on his perfect coif. "Heimdall would only need to cover the open air rim with the palace's transparent shield."

"And what of those who are not within the shield's boundaries?" Sigyn said, eyeing the blond warrior and pointing to the thousands gathered on the grounds surrounding the royal family's golden castle.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, Fandral swept his arm across the scene. "If you could see that far, it must be difficult with those Vanir eyes, you would note that our lovely peasants have fastened hooded cloaks about their shoulders."

She shrugged out of his hold, glaring at him. "My eyesight is excellent, thank you.  Hogun,” she said turning to the grim warrior, “you are of Vanaheim, as well.  How can you stand him?  I should leave red handprints on his handsome face regularly for all his racist and, might I add, misogynistic comments.  Of course, a more effective discipline would be to simply destroy his looking glass."

Hogun chuckled quietlyーa rare thing indeed. "I cannot recall when I last granted Fandral my full attention.  Those of Vanaheim are skilled at tuning out buzzing flies."

Fandral smirked. "Considering your realm is full of the nasty little bugs, you should be.” He paused to kiss Sigyn’s cheek. “I've yet to see so much as a gnat in Asgard, however.  And I shall simply steal one of Loki's many mirrors.  There is none more vain than your dark prince."

She made a face, swiping her now wet cheek with the back of her hand. "It does him better than it does you, clearly."

His smirk was quickly transforming into something resembling a sneer. "Does it?  Once again, the poor quality of your Vanir eyes fails you."

"I swear, Fandral,” she hissed, hands fisting, breathing heavily, she fought to control her anger, “I will claw out those pretty little Ӕsir eyes of yours if youー"

_ "Children, _ please!” Volstagg groaned, cutting her off and pulling Fandral, still glaring at Sigyn, by the elbow to the steps below the throne. “Come, we must go to our places.  The queen and Silvertongue are coming!"

Sigyn stopped breathing, eyes blown wide with admiration, as Loki, in full regalia armor complete with his horned helmet, green cape flowing behind him, escorted his mother down the long aisle to the throne.  The previously silent crowd erupted into cheers for their adored queen and her mischievous son.  By Hel, he was stunning.  Turning his horned head, he located her within the gathered nobility and flashed her a brilliant smile.

_ Well, you are _ ーshe grinned, knowing he'd heard it. She nodded to the many approving looks he was receivingー _ And, clearly, I'm not the only one who thinks so.   _

Laughing silently to himself, her thoughts flattering him to no end, he took up his place on the steps, below his mother and above Sif.

Odin appeared at the end of the aisle, everyone solemnly bowing as he passed, and once at the throne, he nodded and Thor entered, thrusting Mjölnir in the air, a silver winged helmet adorning his golden head.  The ensuing roar of applause and heralding from the proud citizens hurt Sigyn's ears.  Scoffing quietly at Thor's arrogant display, she trained her eyes on Loki.  Despite the helmet shielding his eyes, she saw pain in his faceーrejection, sorrow, disappointment, annoyance, disgust.  

She stared, confused, as a small smile appeared on his face accompanied by a rush of excitement and anticipation in her core.  It was  _ Loki's _ excitement.   _ His _ anticipation.  Why the Hel was he  _ happy _ all of a sudden?  As Thor came to the bottom of the golden stairs and knelt before his father, her silent question was answered, a gut-wrenching image filtering through her mind.

_ Out of the shadows, within the weapons vault, three Jotuns appeared, charging toward a transparent box that sat atop a tall stone pedestal.  Blue light swirled within the box. _

Loki had shown it to her once. It was the Jotuns' power source, the Casket of Ancient Winters, and it had been taken long ago by Odin.

_ Lifting the pulsing casket, one of the giants made to run before a blast of bright fiery light slammed him in the gut, wrenching the powerful box free of his grip. _

She shook her head, trying to understand what she had just seen.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware of Thor repeating an oath spoken by his father, but the Allfather's emotional words were drowned by her silent cry.  

_ What have you done, Loki?! _

Her thoughts rang in his ears.  Eyes glistening and wide with panic, she gaped at him.  He stared back, jaw clenched, his body tensing visibly.  His eyes glazed over, everything that wasn't Sigyn having blurred.  He could see her struggling to hold back tears, and there was nothing he could do.  He desperately wanted to run to her.  To tell her that it would be alright.  That the Jotuns wouldn't hurt them.  That everything was under control.  That he was sparing Asgard from an unworthy king!  Straining to remain in his spot, he cringed, feeling every ounce of fear and anger that was boiling over within her small body and her subsequent fight to hold it in.

"Frost giants," Odin whispered suddenly, his allsight showing him the giants in the vault.

Sigyn's head snapped up at the crashing sound of Gungnir hitting the foot of the throne.  It was the Allfather's silent command for the Destroyer, the fire breathing twenty foot tall metal man and lethal protector of the vault, to kill the invading Jotuns.  Stunned by their king's words and actions, the people’s confused murmurs grew to a panicked roar, and hundreds of soldiers pushed against the crowds, attempting to calm them and bring order.

Removing his helmet, Loki flicked his wrist, sending the golden horns safely to his chambers.  As much as he loved their intimidating appearance, they had proven, quite unfortunately, to be incredibly impractical during battle, and he wasn't so sure that a fight didn't await him in the vault.

Odin angrily descended the stairs, ordering his best guards to the vault, and running after his father, Thor growled, having been caught by his cape.  He turned, Mjölnir at the ready, rage flashing in his eyes, but relaxed at the sight of Sif.

"I'm coming with you," the war goddess said sternly, removing a leather strap from her formal armor and pulling back her long hair.

Thor shook his head, pulling her against his chest in a tight embrace. "Not this time, Sif."

He watched her face, his direct words shattering her, but there was no time for apologies.  Pulling away, he gave her his kingly helmet before turning to run after his father.  

Sigyn, struggling against the chaotic swarm of bodies, shouted for Loki as he chased Thor and his father down the aisle.  Turning at her voice, he stopped in his tracks and ran to her.  Wrenching her free from the crowd, he wrapped his arms around her.

"Loki, you  _ cannot _ leave me in this madhouse! Let me come withー"

Her words were silenced as he crushed his mouth against hers, hoping it would calm her. "No, Sig.  Go to my mother.  Everything will be fine, but I  _ must _ go!"

Kissing her hand, he pushed her back and turned on his heel. In a flash of green, he dashed after his father and brother, catching up to them quickly with dozens of soldiers on his tail.

* * *

 

Loki avoided the dead guards in the vault, stepping carefully around the bodies frozen solid in their own blood as the Destroyer returned to its post behind a wall of spiked metal gratings.  No doubt, the metal killing machine had done its good work.  Weary from shielding his thoughts from Sigyn, he focused on the three scorched frost giants, blocking the image of the unexpected Æsir casualties.  He scowled, remembering his own words.

_ Just a bit of fun. _

Well, that had only applied to a few dead frost giants ruining Thor's big day.  Mauled bodies of Asgardian soldiers had definitely not been part of the plan.  Wrinkling his nose, he looked down at his hands.  The blood on them wouldn't wash away with water.  No.  This blood would stay with him.

Kicking the closest Jotun corpse, Thor growled, the sound echoing throughout the stone chamber.  

"Well,” Odin sighed as he bent over the burnt body of a frost giant, examining the blue flesh. “This seems a most opportune time for a lesson.  As king,” he turned to Thor, “what would you do, my son?"

Thinking it was the obvious answer, Thor spoke plainly. "Send our army to Jotunheim, of course." After a stunt like this, diplomacy had flown out the window.

Rolling his eyes, Loki cleared his throat.  Yes, he'd been right to ruin the coronation.  His brother was a fool.

Thor turned to him, chest heaving. "If you have something to say, then say it, Loki."

Emerald eyes closing, Loki lowered his raven head and laughed mirthlessly. "War with Jotunheim, Thor?  Really?  Father has a truce with Laufey."

"Truce?” Thor spoke through his teeth, gesturing to the dead guards. “This doesn't look like a truce to me!"

Odin raised a finger, silencing his sons. "Calm down, Thor.  A king must keep his head and not make such rash decisions."

Thor scoffed.  Was this not an act of war?  He couldn't believe his father was blatantly ignoring the threat of a Jotun invasion.  Was he the only one using his head at all?  Who was to say that Laufey wouldn't send his entire army next time?  And how had they even gotten past Heimdall in the first place?!  Did no one else find it more than a little alarming?!

"Loki,” Odin started, dismissing his second son with a flippant wave as he continued to stare at his eldest, disappointment writ on his face, “go inform your mother that the casket is safe and that the frost giants were slain."

Face falling, feeling the sting of his father's disregard, Loki nodded.  What else could he do?  Clearly Odin did not care to hear his opinions or suggestions.

"Very well,” he said, straightening his shoulders, “I see that, once again, my presence is not needed."  _ Or wanted, _ he added silently.

* * *

 

"Oh Loki,” Frigga breathed, throwing her arms around Loki’s shoulders, “I'm so relieved."

Sif, having joined Frigga and Sigyn in the queen's chambers after he and Thor had run off with Odin, spoke quickly. "What of Thor?  Is he still in the vault?"

Annoyed with the female warrior's infatuation with his insipid sibling, Loki shrugged his shoulders, glaring in her direction. "Father and he are having a slight  _ disagreement _ .  It would seem that your beloved desires war with Jotunheim."

Sigyn, her eyes puffy and red, appeared in the doorway of the washroom, and his heart ached at the sight of her.  She may have been  _ his _ Sigyn still, and thusly beautiful, but at that moment she looked like Hel.  He crossed the space in two long strides, and cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her forehead.

"I'm so sorry, Sig,” he whispered low against her ear. “I didn't mean to upset you earlier."

"Is Thor completely mad?” she said, brow furrowed as she squeezed his wrists. “A few Jotuns in the vault and he's ready to plunge head first into war with the frost giants?" She was quickly losing faith in Thor's ability to rule the nine realms, not that she'd had much in the first place.

"I'm going to him,” Sif said, tightening the leather strap around her hair. “Someone needs to talk him down, and forgive me for saying so, but I doubt that the Allfather can do it." Without another word, she dashed from the chambers.

"Loki,” Frigga said, though it sounded more akin to a sigh, “you and Sigyn should change out of your formal attire. It would seem that the coronation is on hold for an undetermined amount of time."   Running a hand down her face, Frigga went through the door of her bedchamber and closed it behind her.

Alone with Loki at last, Sigyn punched him in the shoulder.  She winced, pulling her hand protectively against her chest.  She’d not considered what the metal armor would do to her knuckles.

"I can't believe you just left me there,” she whispered angrily. “It was absolute  _ chaos _ .  If your mother hadn't grabbed me and pulled me to her chambers, I would have been trampled by all those giant  _ Asgardian _ idiots.” One hand at the back of her neck, the other on her hip, she paced. “Either that or I might have burned them alive.  Come to think of it, there  _ were _ torches everywhere."

“I’m Asgardian, too, Sig,” he said, eyes narrowed as he took a step toward her. “We’re not  _ all _ idiotsー”

"You aren’t like them!” she shouted, cutting him off. “I’d swear you weren’t of the same genetic make up!”

Taken aback, Loki’s jaw dropped just a bitーhe hated the insinuation that he was different seeing as how he’d always felt painfully out of placeーand he started to speak but she waved her hand.

“Either way,” she continued, completely unaware of the pain evidenced in his features, “I barely made it to her washroom before my first meal revisited me.  I knew you were alive.  I felt that you were, but I was  _ terrified _ nonetheless—"

“ _ Enough _ , woman,” he growled and grabbed her by the arm.

Pulling her to him, he flicked his wrist and transported them instantly to his chambers.  He didn’t want to hear any more.  She was on the verge of hysterical, and he would have none of it.  He shushed her, placing small kisses on her cheeks, nose, chin, and mouth, sparing no part of her face in his effort to console her.

"Everything is  _ fine _ ,” he whispered against her temple, one hand in her hair, the other wrapped around her ribs, “just as I said it would be.  My father sits upon the throne still, and he won't break his truce with Laufey.  Even after this, he'll just tighten security.  Maybe have a talk with the frost giant royal himself.  Now help me get out of this.  I feel as though my skin is  _ melting _ underneath all this leather and metal."

Pulling his cape free, she held the green fabric to her chest, inhaling the smell, setting it to memory, lest he leave again and not return.  He sat on the hearth sofa, bending to remove his boots as she knelt in front of him, reaching around his neck, unhooking the clasps of his breast plate.

Brow furrowed, she eyed him. "All this Jotunheim nonsense was just to stop the coronation?"

"Indeed, it was,” he said, a touch too brightly.

Free from the constraints of his armor, he gripped her waist and pulled her into his lap.  He left out the part about Laufey killing Theoric.  He knew she didn’t like the hawk, but somehow Loki doubted she would approve of murdering him.

“I think the coronation will be delayed longer than I'd anticipated.  _  'March on Jotunheim' _ .” Loki mimicked his brother’s voice and chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “Thor is a fool.  Father might be questioning his choice to crown him at all."

She relaxed a little.  She’d thought Loki’s jaunts to Jotunheim had been for a more sinister purpose.  His words put her at ease.... _ somewhat _ .  She couldn’t help feeling there was something he wasn’t telling her.  She shook her head, deciding she’d had enough worrying for the day, and reached down between them, unlacing his breeches.

"That’s enough talking for now," she whispered heatedly, a jolt of arousal shooting through her abdomen as her hand grazed him through the leather.

Much to her dismay, he shook his head. "I assure you, Sig,” he said, smirking as he pulled her hands away from the waistband of his pants, “there is nothing I would rather do than  _ that _ right now, but I must find Thor.  I wouldn't put it past him to do something incredibly asinine after his fight with father."

Pushing up from the sofa, he kissed her cheek and walked to his dressing room where he pulled on his basic tunic, boots, and thick jacket. When he reemerged, Sigyn was talking to Fandral who stood at the outer chamber doors.  Furrowing his brow, Loki ran to them.

"What's the meaning of this?" He put himself between the two.  Ever since that first meal together, when she and Fandral had flirted with each otherーeven though it had only been for showーhe couldn’t stand to see the blond warrior anywhere near Sigyn.

Sighing, Fandral ran a hand through his hair. "Thor is set on going to Jotunheim with or without our aid.  I think it best we not let him go, or, at the very least, not let him go  _ alone _ .  Now might be the time to put that silver tongue of yours to the test, Loki."

_ Shit _ .

"Of course,” Loki said, rolling his eyes.  Firmly pushing Sigyn back into the room, he left with Fandral looking back at her over his shoulder. “I won't be long.  Stay here."

_ The Hel I’ll stayー _ she was in no mood to be left  _ again _ .  

Stepping back into the boots she'd cast aside, she dashed down the corridor after them.

At the sound of her clicking heels gaining on them, Loki turned, anger pulling at his features. "I thought I told you to—"

"I am not your servant, Loki,” she snapped. “You are free to say what you want me what to do, but don't expect me to heed your words blindly." She grabbed his hand, interlacing her fingers with his.

Fandral laughed aloud, the sound echoing through the bustling corridor as nervous palace workers scuttled about with excitement over the frost giant gossip. Loki glared at him, and turning to Sigyn, he shook his head. The forthcoming chat with Thor had the potential to blow up in his face, and he really didn't want her involved.

They walked into the decidedly  _ un _ -merry celebration hall and gaped at the sight.  The long head table had been overturned with various gourds, apples, grapes, pastries, meats and cheeses littering the freshly waxed granite floors.  Thor sat on the steps leading to the balcony decked with fresh evergreen garland which had been a gift for the  _ would-have-been _ new king from Vanaheim's royal family as servants busied themselves cleaning the leftovers of the thunder god's angry outburst.  His head hung, mindlessly rolling a mead goblet between his thumb and his forefinger.  Loki sighed and released Sigyn's hand and approached his brother guardedly while she joined the warriors, listening intently as Loki and Thor spoke in hushed tones.  After no more than two minutes, Thor walked to them, and Loki, shaking his head and frowning, followed his brother.

"Loki and I have decided to go to Jotunheim,” Thor declared, a toothy smile crinkling his eyes.

“ _ What _ ?!” Sigyn was at Loki’s side in a heartbeat.  Normally, she would have been embarrassed by the shrieking quality of her voice, but not now, not when Loki was in for an absurd battle on fucking  _ Jotunheim _ . “Absolutely not!"

“Um, no,” Loki corrected, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and glaring at Thor. "I was completely opposed to that, but I cannot let you go alone.  Valhalla knows you will need all the help you can get."

Jaw set, Sigyn pointed at Thor, angry tears prickling her eyes. "You are positively infuriating!  This is absolute madness!"  

This wasn’t happening.  This could not be happening.  Dear gods, she was going to lose Loki.  She couldn’t even fathom her life without him anymore.  He mattered too much.  He was  _ everything _ to her now.

Thor leaned over her small frame. "You may lie with my brother nightly, Lady Sigyn,” he said, eyes narrowing, “but that is no excuse for addressing the crowned prince of Asgard with such disrespect."

The warriors went silent as the torches in the hall grew, sparks falling to the floor as Thor's head reeled back when her fist collided with his face.  Eyes blown wide, Loki immediately grabbed her and pushed her behind him as Thor rubbed his cheek and stared daggers at her.

She fought to pull out from behind her protector, and shouted angrily. "Leave Loki out of this!  Your arrogance will send all of you to your deaths!  You're just pissed because you didn't get a crown today, but you'll  _ never _ get one with such  _ petulant _ actions!"

Glaring at her, Thor addressed his brother. "Gain control of your  _ pet _ , Loki."

Seething, Loki sent a burst of magic into his brother's chest, sending the heir across the room. "You speak of disrespect, and yet you call her my  _ pet?!" _

Standing to his feet, Thor swiped at the blood on his lips, and looking at the shocked silent warriors, he was suddenly full of shame.  It must have been the mixture of adrenaline and testosterone coursing through him that had made his tongue loose.  His behavior was positively wretched, and he knew it.  He turned to Sigyn who was peeking around Loki and frowned.

"Forgive me,” Thor said in earnest, “I spoke out of turn, but I stand by my decision."

Impossibly angry, she shrugged out of Loki's grasp and ran full speed out the doors.

* * *

 

 

"You are absolutely  _ not _ coming with us," Loki hissed, snatching the traditional female Vanir armor from her hands and began re-tying the laces of the dress Sigyn was currently removing.

She'd made it to her chambers and started stripping faster than his brother could say  _ 'we're going to Jotunheim.' _  Never had he seen a speedier woman.  Despite his anger, he was rather impressed.

She slapped his hands away from her back, nimbly pulling her shoulders free from the impractical coronation gown that Frigga had made specially for her. "I am well skilled with bow, blade, and magic, Loki.  Need I remind you that I am the only one of you who is fully capable of actually  _ melting _ a frost giant?  You will  _ not _ leave me again."

Loki paced, his hands running through his hair anxiously.  Sigyn going with them had not been part of the plan.  Marching on Jotunheim  _ at all _ had not been part of the plan.  He'd only intended to piss off Laufey so he could retaliate with Theoric as his target eventually.  Perhaps he hadn't thoroughly thought it through.  It mattered not now.  All he could think of was Sigyn battling frost giants.  He wanted to rip out his hair in frustration.  _ He _ was the one who watched out for the others' backs, slinging daggers at enemies unaware.  But if she was present, his focus would only be on keeping  _ her _ safe!  She was a greater threat to the six of them than  _ Laufey _ , for Hel's sake!  

Feeling helpless, he watched as she removed the dark green dress, replacing it with black leather leggings and boots and covered her grey long sleeved wool tunic with a silver leather armored corset, a black evergreen stitched into the thick garment.  Tugging on a silver fur-lined cloak, she looked every bit the deadly Vanir warrior she was.  Grabbing the longbow and quiver from her hands and tossing them on the bed, he pulled her against him.

"I will not be able to protect you," he said, his voice cracking.

Sighing, she pulled back enough to look him in the eye. “You won’t  _ need _ to.”

He stroked her hair, combing the waves with his fingers. "You are far too important, Sig.  I cannot lose you."

"Nor I you, Loki, which is precisely why I am coming with you.  End of discussion."

Pulling out of his hold, she wove her hair into a side braid and retrieved her bow and quiver, slinging them across her torso.  Emerald eyes filling with hot angry tears, he watched in horror as she strapped her sharp black bladed dagger to the inside of her leather clad thigh.

_ "No, Sig,"  _ he pleaded.

He couldn't believe she was refusing his request.  His mind reeled.

_ She'll get the both of us killed. _

“No, I won’t,” she insisted, hearing his unguarded thoughts and kissed his cheek, surprised to find it wet with silent tears.  It broke her heart, but pulling him with her, she bolted out the door.

* * *

 

Galloping across the rainbow bridge on Moða, Sigyn's stomach churned.  She was not looking forward to using the Bifrost again.  The Asgardians really needed to invent another form of interplanetary travel.  They dismounted, and standing alongside Thor, the warriors three, Sif, and Loki, Sigyn watched the golden observatory that was the gate of Asgard spin to life.

_ This is a terrible plan. _

She smirked, the thought had echoed within Loki's mind as well.  At least two of them on this little adventure had something other than empty space between their ears.

Heimdall's deep voice set them on edge as he pushed his sword into the stone rudder, inputting the coordinates of their destination. 

"Heed this warning, young warriors,” he said, “if there is any threat to Asgard, I will not reopen the Bifrost."

The familiar pull into the beam of light came over her, and she reached for Loki's hand, nervous that it would be her last chance to touch him.  Reading her thoughts, he stretched back to grab her waiting hand, but she wasn’t there.  He would have turned to see her, but it was too late as he was pulled head first into the light with the others.  Filled with rage, he heard her screaming, and the fading cry had not been from the impact of the Bifrost.

_ "No!  No!  Let me go!  Let me go!  Take your hands off me!" _

Her voice faded to nothing as he along with his brother and their friends landed on the cold realm, the Bifrost closing to them. Someone had pulled her back.  

_ Theoric. _

He would deal with that wretched hawk when he got back.  Standing slowly, his eyes swept the desolate plain for Jotuns.   _ If _ he got back.

* * *

 

"You bastard!” Sigyn swore and landed a punch square on Theoric's chinーhow many men had she hit in anger today?ー before taking off back down the bridge to the palace.  

“You selfish bastard!  If you come within a foot of me again, I swear I will  _ kill _ you!"

Heimdall had closed the Bifrost, and she had no way of following the warriors.  She had to tell Odin.  She took off in the direction of the palace, whistling for Moða.  Hearing his nearing footsteps behind her, she spun to face him, unsheathing the dagger from her thigh holster.

"One more step!" she cried, sincerely hoping he wouldn’t come any closer because she really  _ would _ kill him, and that would land her a spot in the dungeons.

The wind howling around the bridge nearly drowning out his voice, he shouted, "I couldn't let you go!  You were on a  _ death _ mission!"

Silver cloak tossing about her frame, her grey green eyes blazed with hate. "What is it with you men?!  I do not need a savior!   _ I _ was going to protect  _ him _ , you fool!  Must you be my shadow?  What do you  _ want _ from me?!"

Scoffing, he shrugged his shoulders, as though it should have been plainly obvious. "I am in love with you, Sigyn.  Has he ever said those words to you?   _ Will _ he ever?"

She dropped her head, laughing humorlessly. "Find another to bestow your affections upon.  I've bound myself to Loki.  I love him.  I adore him.  As he does me.  And if he does not return, by the gods, I will have your  _ heart _ for first meal!"

* * *

 

Dammit _ , of course _ Thor's demands for answers had turned into a battle.  Did his brother really think that  _ thousands _ of frost giants were no match for him?  

Loki twisted, slinging a dagger, slicing it through the neck of a Jotun coming at Sif from behind.  He assessed the scene, lethally flinging conjured knives glowing with green light when Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun, Sif, or even Thor himself were overwhelmed with attacking Jotuns.  Vaguely aware of the inhuman growls spewing from his brother's mouth, pounding Mjölnir into giant after giant, Loki dissipated the illusion of himself that had tricked an oncoming Jotun, its monstrous body falling into the icy chasm behind his 'trapped' fake.  Watching in horror as Fandral, screaming in pain, was impaled in the chest by a huge sharp icicle, Loki slid beneath the legs of a giant, daggers in both of his hands slicing through the backs of its knees.

Somewhere in the disastrous scene, he heard the gravelly voice of Volstagg. "Don't let them touch you!"

Loki gaped at the crusting black flesh of the barrel chested warrior's arm as Volstagg head butted the giant who had grabbed him.  He'd known the frost giants conjured ice weapons to slice apart their enemies, but their ability to give frostbite to anyone they touched was news to him.  Feeling the rush of wind from behind, Loki spun, glowing dagger in hand, and stabbed at the approaching Jotun's chest, but before the blade made contact, the monster grabbed him by the arm, the leather and metal of his armor ripping and cracking apart in its icy grasp.  He winced, anticipating the forthcoming freezing burn, but upon feeling only a slight chill, he stared at his arm.  His jaw dropped, and he blinked rapidly at the sight of his skin turning blue, the classic Jotun raised markings appearing on his flesh.

_ What the fuck....? _

Returning his eyes to the frost giant who seemed just as surprised by his skin's transformation, clenching his teeth, nostrils flared, eyes glistening with hateful tears, Loki thrust the dagger into the stunned giant's chest.  Gawking at his arm, the dark blue returning to the pale color he'd known his entire life, he shook his head, clearing what must have been a hallucination from his mind.

_ I'm going mad on this desolate rock. _

He slung two daggers across the battlefield, sinking them into the throats of two Jotuns on the verge of beheading Volstagg, Hogun, and Sif who were struggling to pull Fandral free of the icicle that still protruded from his back.

_ "THOR!!"  _ Sif screamed behind her as they ran, Volstagg carrying the injured warrior over his shoulder.

Thor continued swinging his hammer, decking every frost giant that approached him.

Still conjuring daggers, Loki growled at his brother, "We're leaving!   _ NOW!!" _

Raising his hammer to the sky, lightning connecting it to the gathering clouds above them, Thor crashed it back down to the ice below his feet, and the ground exploding, frost giants were tossed about like ragdolls from the impact.  Nodding, satisfied that his work was done, he ran after them, a huge smile plastered on his face.  Loki ran alongside the others who were nearing the steep cliff that the Bifrost had dropped them on with thousands of Jotuns in pursuit, and looking to the clouds above, they screamed in unison, terrified, begging the invisible gatekeeper to save them.

_ "HEIMDALL!!" _

Receiving no response, frost giants descending upon them from every angle, the group crouched, their backs to each other, weapons at the ready.

_ This is it.  I'm so sorry Sig. _

He thought he felt her for a moment, her voice crying out to him, screaming his name, telling him to just hold on.  He shook his head.  That was impossible.  Neither his mind reading nor their bond worked across the realms.  

Waiting to be ripped to pieces, the six Asgardians watched, baffled, as the Jotuns halted their charge suddenly, thousands of pairs of red eyes squinting at the sky.  Looking to the swirling clouds above him, Loki listened, at once both terrified and relieved to actually hear Sigyn.  Obviously, she'd told Odin, and he and Thor would likely receive more wrath from the Allfather than they would have from Laufey.  Her voice echoed within the rush of the Bifrost as the powerful beam of light exploded from the sky and crashed onto the ground next to them.

"Father!" Thor's victorious cry broke through the thunderous roar of the bridge between the realms as the Allfather reared back on Sleipnir, the horse's neighs deafening.

"The Norns be praised!" Fandral said, breathless, his words hoarse, as he lifted his head from over Volstagg's shoulder.

"Shit," Loki muttered to himself, not that anyone would have heard him over the sound of the Bifrost or Odin's eight-legged steed.

Relieved as he was at the prospect of seeing Asgard againーand not being torn to shreds by the giantsーhis father's wrath knew no bounds, even for his sons, and the stunt they'd just pulled would in all likelihood land them a special place in the dungeons.

Odin's voice held great power, as did Gungnir, held steadily in his hand. "Laufey."

The Jotun king held his ground. "Allfather, if war is what you desire, then war you shall have."

Laufey nodded to Thor, red eyes glaring from under his broad and sharply curved brow and gestured to a Jotun near the thunder god.  A thick shard of ice grew from the giant's hand, ready to embed itself in Thor's jugular.

Seeing the ice coming at his brother, Loki screamed,  _ "NO!!" _

Conjuring a dagger, he threw it at the giant before its icy weapon could run his brother through, the glowing blade slicing off the attacking Jotun's offending arm.  Laufey grabbed Loki then, yanking him back painfully against his freezing body.  Loki cried out, his armor ripping and breaking at every point of contact, his flesh once again turning that monstrous Jotun blue.

_ No, this isn't possible!  By Hel, I've gone mad!  I must be mad!  It cannot be real! _

Pointing Gungnir at the boulder below Laufey's feet, flaming hot light bursting from the tip, Odin roared angrily,  _ "LOKI!" _

The stone exploded into pieces, blowing the Jotun king back and freeing Odin's youngest son from his icy grasp.  The Bifrost reopened, and the blinding beam of light surrounded the seven Asgardians, dragging them with it as it disappeared from the frost giants' planet.  Flying at light speed back to his home, Loki watched his skin return to its normal hue.  He landed, along with the others, on his feet in the observatory, relief washing over him.

Where was she?  He could feel her.  She was there somewhere.  Oh gods, he needed to see her.  Determined to keep his composure, he searched for her face among the soldiers who had been called to stand guard against a possible onslaught of Jotuns.  Catching her eyes from across the observatory, he fought his way through the sea of bodies, and finally grabbed hold of her, clinging to her as the soldiers surrounding them marched back to the palace having been ordered to stand down.  Kissing her square on the mouthㅡ _ propriety be damned! _ ㅡhis emerald eyes wet with tears, he sank to the floor, pulling her with him.

_ So much for keeping my composure. _

"You’re alive,” she whispered, kissing the tears on his cheek, her arms, small but strong, holding him steady against her chest. “You’re okay.  What….gods,” she paused, noticing his trembling body, his face drained of all its blood. “Loki…..what happened?!  Tell me what happened!"

He wanted to scream at herㅡ _ What happened?  What happened?!  My skin turned blue!  That's what happened! _

But he refused to speak, his eyes lifting to meet hers, as she clung to the back of his neck.  He pulled them to their feet and watched the scene around them.  Odin was yelling.  Thor was yelling.  Volstagg had pushed Fandral onto the saddle of his horse, and they along with Hogun and Sif were galloping at full speed to the palace.  Odin plunged the blunt end of Gungnir into the stone rudder of the observatory, the huge golden gears spinning together and roaring to life.

Loki stared, confused by his father's actions. "Father, what are you...?"

He was silenced by the Allfather's deafening growl.  His father then shouted something about taking Thor's power, about being unworthy of Mjolnir, and banishing him.  The mighty weapon flew from Thor's hand, Odin catching it swiftly.  Loki and Sigyn stood still, unable to move, mouths hanging open, eyes wide, not believing what was playing out in front of them.  Yanked into the beam of light, back first, Thor screamed, his arms flung forward, reaching for his home, for his family.  The ancient markings on the hammer faded, and Odin threw the hammer after his firstborn.

Sighing, weary with sorrow for his loss, Odin retrieved his spear, and looking to his youngest, the king shook his head. "Come, Loki. You need to see Eir."

Sigyn gaped at the king.  He banished  _ Thor?! _  His own heir?!  Had Loki known that he would?  Was that why he was sobbing?  No, that couldn't be.  He was as genuinely shocked as she was.

She was snapped from her musings when his hand closed around hers, pulling her to Sinir, who had, along with the other warriors' horses, run to the Bifrost at the sound of their return.  Pulling her onto the saddle behind him, they rode to the palace.

* * *

  
  


_["Jacob's Ladder" Sorrow, Instrumental (chapter song)](https://youtu.be/Q7XOkyiTaEg?list=PL8ts83qUe2BE3q7SbLBdpPTa086gnwsvf) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed some content from the movie in this chapter (obviously), and as much as I did NOT want to write a chapter using so much movie plot, I felt that the attack on Jotunheim was a necessary chapter. That, and I like writing battle sequences. Correction: I LOVE writing battles. This is a turning point for Loki. He is no longer just a mischievous jealous prince with a plan to ruin his brother's coronation and kill Theoric, but a truly betrayed and broken and courageous and determined prince. This is why I felt it was too important to leave out.


	12. I Am Not Who I Was

 

_ “I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this morning,” said Alice a little timidly; “but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” _

-Lewis Carroll, from "Through the Looking Glass"

 

* * *

__  
  


Standing over the supine body of Fandral in the private healing room, Sigyn placed a hand on his forehead. 

“Despite my distaste for you knowing no bounds as of late, I do hope that you are healing well,” she said, winking.

“Your concern is much appreciated,” he groaned, offering a weak smile, and rolled to his side atop the healing bed. “Even more so because of said distaste.”

Across the room, Volstagg grimaced, rubbing a warm salve into the blackened flesh of his arm and shot his friend a look. “Eir seems to have repaired you quite well.  That gaping hole that was in your chest is no more than a scratch now.  It would seem that she spent all her healing powers on you, leaving nothing for the rest of us, though.”

Walking to him, Sigyn pet his auburn head and smirked. “Why you poor thing!”

Sif, somewhat annoyed with Sigyn's presence, spoke a bit coldly, “Why are you here?  I saw you and Loki in the observatory.  He had a death grip on you as though he should never let go.  I assumed you would be with him.”

It may have been an  _ accident _ , but ever since Sigyn had burnt her practically to a crisp, Sif had only tolerated her.  It mattered not that Sigyn had gone to great lengths to repair the damage she had done.

Sigyn let Sif's less than kind tone roll off her back.  She had far more important matters to occupy her mind.  Namely, Loki.

“I was, but I am here now,” she said, shrugging. “He needed solitude after a day such as this.”

Heart sinking, she thought back to the previous few hours she’d spent with him.  

* * *

Loki walked to the sprawling balcony when they arrived in his chambers after leaving the observatory.  He wanted nothing more than to forget every single moment of what had become the  _ worst _ day of his life.  Staring blankly into the cosmos, rubbing an ache in his shoulder, he determined that he had two options.  

Option one was to bury himself in his magic books.  It was how he’d preferred to while away his extra daylight hours before Sigyn had blown into his life like a hurricane, bending him like a palm.  He feared that he was becoming deciduous however, and his branches would snap if her storm overpowered his own will.  

Option two was to, quite literally, bury himself inside of said Vanir hurricane.  If he had no other responsibilities, he could, with no effort in the slightest, lose himself in her for days.  For weeks.  He had even thought it possible to drown in her scent, her hair, her eyes, her mouth, her arms for  _ years _ .  Had he been given the chance, he would do just that.  When you lived forever, what was a decade?  He had taken all of two seconds to settle on the latter.

Desperate to rescue him from the sea of despair he’d been drowning in since his return from Jotunheim, Sigyn stood before the green flames of his fireplace, watching his back.

“How can I help?” she said, her voice trembling more than she would have liked. “Say the word.  I’ll do anything.  I can’t stand seeing you like this.”  

She really hoped he didn’t want solitude.  She would have complied to his wishes, of course, but she desperately wanted to hold him.  She wanted him to trust her enough to just  _ tell her _ what had happened in Jotunheim.  It was frustrating that she couldn’t see it through the bond.  Whatever had happened was locked away in his memories now.

Turning to face her, he pulled off his shirt and descended the balcony stairs, taking slow steps in her direction, an eerie calmness about his actions.

“You know what you can do, Sig,” he said, his voice low, his eyes never leaving hers as he came toe to toe with her.

Sex?  But he seemed so...cold, so emotionless, so  _ detached _ .  She’d never seen him like this.  This was really what he wanted?  Frowning, she shook her head.  

“Loki, Iㅡ”

He put his finger on her lips, shaking his head slowly.  Emerald eyes glazing over, he lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger and just looked at her.  He didn’t kiss her, only blinking his eyes a few times.  There was no hint of muscle tension in his jaw, as though he was in a trance.  He pulled her toward the bed and pinned her beneath him, running his fingers along the planes of her face.  

The calm left him then, hunger replacing it.  He was a starving man who’d stumbled upon an orchard at harvest.  He had been hiding it from her, guarding the horrid events on that frozen rock, and he’d been doing a grand job of it, until that moment.  His veil dropped.  With every thrust of his hips, he drove himself into the wall he’d built to keep her safe from his mind, from the madness growing within, destroying his good work beyond repair.

It was in that moment, that she saw it.  Just as she’d seen in the nightmare after they’d first slept togetherㅡFair skin turned blue, green eyes turned red.

_ Oh gods, Loki _ .

She wanted to cry, her heart aching beneath her chest at his pain.  She loved him so much more than she would ever be able to express.  He trembled above her, and she wanted nothing more than to hold him there forever, his body wrapped up in hers.  But she couldn’t hold him.  Not forever.  Not even for two more seconds.

Pulling out of her, he kissed her quickly, retrieved his breeches, and settled into the hearth sofa, staring into the fire blankly.  Save for the rising and falling of his chest with each steady breath, he was motionless.  Sighing heavily, she crawled off his bed, dressed and cast one more glance in his direction.  When he only continued his quiet study of the green flames, she left for the healing rooms to see the warriors three and Sif.  

* * *

Though Loki's motives had been questionable, using her body as a tourniquet for his wounds, she’d adored every moment of it.  Despite the painful gnawing at his bones, despite the ice that had encased his body at the touch of the frost giant, he had not physically hurt her in his desperation for reprieve.  She hoped, as she sat beside Hogun in the healing chamber, that if anything, her touch, the fire that she housed within her, had begun its work of melting that newly discovered ice before it cracked, shattering what little of his soul was left.  She then informed the four warriors of Thor's exile, and they stared, eyes wide, mouths agape.

“ _ What _ did you say?” Sif choked on the words, hands fisting at her sides.

“The Allfather banished him,” Sigyn replied, grimacing at the anger evident in Sif’s voice. “He took Thor’s power, his title, even Mjölnir.  I know not where he was sent.”

They gaped at her, as though she was a figment of their imaginations.  It was awful.  She couldn’t have imagined the hurt expressions on their faces.  Such strong and brave warriors just looked  _ wrong _ when they were on the verge of tears.  She refused to face them one more second and pushed up from her seat.

Rushing after her, Sif grabbed her arm before she reached the doors.

“And what of Loki?” she whispered heatedly.

“What of him?” Sigyn said, playing nervously with the end of her braid. “I left him in his chambers, as I said.”

Swallowing thickly, she looked at her feet.  Had Sif seen his transformation on Jotunheim?  Had they all?

“I saw something I did not understand,” Sif said, lowering her voice further as she led Sigyn outside the door. “I thought maybe I had imagined it.  Loki …  _ changed _ .”

Furrowing her brow, Sigyn pinched the bridge of her nose, absorbed in the mental image of Loki’s Jotun appearance.  She didn’t find the change ugly perse, just  _ different _ .  It simply wasn't what she was used to.   _ He could never be ugly _ , she thought, hoping that through the many halls and walls between them, Loki had heard it.  

Æsir had been taught, nearly from birth, to fear frost giants.  That they were a race of  _ monsters _ .  The question of why his skin had changed remained unanswered.  Though she’d never seen a family resemblance between Loki and his parents or Thor, he was still too small to be Jotun, was he not?  He may have towered over her, but the frost giants were at least  _ twelve _ feet tall!  

She went still suddenly, the color draining from her face.  What was it she had said to Loki earlier in his mother’s chambers?  She’d screamed at him stupidly, something about idiotic Asgardians.

_ “You’re not like them!  Sometimes I think you don’t even have the same genetic makeup!” _

Covering her mouth, she squeezed her eyes shut, stifling a cry.  What wretched words!  What painfully wretched and  _ true _ words!  Why couldn’t she go back in time and erase them from his memory?  From hers?  She was a fool, a fool with a tongue too loose for her own good.

Feeling Sif staring at her still, she opened her eyes, mulling over whether or not to admit her knowledge on the matter.  She sighed heavily, deciding honesty was the best route, and spoke in a hushed tone.

“I saw it, too.  Loki and I have a specialー” she hesitated, watching the war goddess carefully before continuing. “ー _ bond _ .  Did the others see it?”

Looking around the open corridor and finding it empty, Sif whispered, “I think not.  None of them mentioned it.  Laufey grabbed him.  His armor broke beneath the grip.  Every point of contact between his skin and Laufey’s became Jotun in appearance.  If I’d not seen Volstagg’s arm turn black when one had grabbed him during the battle, I would have thought the change of Loki’s skin was a normal reaction to their touch.  Never before had I seen him  _ terrified _ .  Loki is always ten steps ahead of everyone, but this?  The look on his face was proof that he was miles behind this.  Worst of all was the Allfather’s reaction.  It was as though he were looking at a Midgardian boy who had just learned that St. Nicholas did not, in fact, bring toys down a chimney and leave them beneath a tree in his home.  I saw regret.   _ Guilt _ even.  I think he and the queen have been hiding something from Loki.  Something very grave indeed.”

Clutching her throat, holding back a sob, Sigyn nodded. “If you have need of me, I will be in the library.”

Willing back tears, Sif watched as she rushed down the hall.  She imagined the torture it must have been for Loki to discover that he’d been lied to his entire life.  She doubted he was still in his chambers.  As a man of unequaled intellect, Loki would seek out answers.  He wouldn't accept ignorance.  But he wouldn’t go directly to Odin.  It was most likely that he would visit the casket.  Turning on her heel, she fled from the healing chambers and hurried to the weapons vault.

* * *

It seemed like a lifetime ago that he’d looked upon the casket.  And, to a very real degree, it had been.  That morning, viewing the dead guards and listening to his, now banished, brother talk of warㅡ _ glorious war! _ ㅡhad been part of a different life.  A life when he knew where he came from, who his parents were, what his name was.  Now, looking at the frost giants’ most powerful weapon, Loki questioned if he wanted to know the truth. His existence may have been a lie, but it had been a  _ fantastic _ lie.  He was a prince of Asgard.  His name was Loki Odinson.  The God of Mischief.  Brother to Thor, son of Frigga.  His eyes were green, his skin fair.

Hanging his head, he scoffed quietly.  How ironic that the god of lies desired the truth.  Shaking his head, hands fisted at his sides, he approached the casket.

Standing before the ancient blue box, he whispered, “Just do it.”

Slowly, carefully, he wrapped his fingers around it.  Cold rushed through his veins, power along with it.  He felt  _ alive _ , and beginning at his hands, Jotun blue spread up and across his body.  Salty tears pooled in his eyes, no longer the green hue he knew and loved.  Feeling a presence behind him, he turned to see the man he’d called  _ father _ standing at the top of the stairs.  He desperately wanted Odin to reassure him.  He wanted him to tell him that he had an unknown congenital disease or that he was cursed.  Either would be preferable answers over ‘ _ you’re a frost giant. _ ’  The blue of his skin faded away as he set the casket back on its pedestal, and he looked at the older man questioningly, desperately.

Odin hung his head.  Despite so often being at odds with the second prince, he did love him. In his own way. He’d almost forgotten that he did.

“You are my son, Loki,” he answered his son’s silent question. “I raised you. You are my own.”

Loki took a deep breath, his eyes closing.  The answer wasn’t good enough.

“Am I  _ born _ of Frigga?”

Silence.

Odin shook his head slowly before answering a small eternity later.

“ _ No _ .”

And that was that.  One word and Loki’s world came crashing down.  It took every ounce of his willpower not to just fall to the stone floor and weep.  He had wanted to know why for years, decades,  _ centuries _ ㅡwhy the king had treated him as second.  Not only as a second son, but as a lesser sonㅡa  _ disappointment _ .  He’d always received harsher discipline, greater judgment, less kindness, less understanding and empathy.  Now here Loki stood, looking at the man he’d called father, finally with the answers to all those  _ whys _ .

Odin steadied himself.  He had no choice but to tell his youngest the rest of the story.  And so he did.  The whole story.  Finally, after all these years, he told Loki the  _ truth _ .

Loki stared blankly, unable to believe, more likely  _ unwilling _ to believe the words.   _ Laufey _ , of all those monsters, was his true father.  The Jotun king had left him to die in the cold after the great war with Jotunheim.  Perhaps because he’d been too small.  Because he’d been a disappointment even as a baby.  Before he’d been able to take his first step, speak his first word, he’d been a  _ disappointment _ .  The frost giants were defeated, and Odin took pity on Loki and brought him back to Asgard.

“So when you said that I was ‘ _ born to be a king _ ’,” Loki said through his teeth, his jaw clenched, “you meant something else entirely.  Such  _ cryptic _ words.  Have you any idea what those words meant to a young boy?  To  _ me _ as a young boy?!  Was I supposed to sit on the throne of  _ Jotunheim?! _  In what realm exactly was your head when you made that decision?!”

Hanging his head, looking more weary than Loki had ever seen him, Odin fell back on the steps unconscious.  Eyes wide, Loki ascended the stairs three at a time and bent over the king’s body, splayed across the steps.  Looking upon the older man’s now sleeping form, suddenly fearful that he would not wake, Loki called for the guards.  Running up the stairs after the guards and the man he could no longer call  _ father _ , Loki did not see the female warrior hidden from sight within the shadows of the vault.  

Swiping at the tears on her cheeks, Sif waited until they had disappeared to take her leave and find Sigyn.

* * *

Sigyn was really starting to hate this bond.  It was wonderful when Loki felt anything good, but that was a very rare thing indeed as of late.  Mostly she felt his brooding, his scheming.  She felt ragged.  Utterly  _ spent _ .  Of course, after all this Jotun business, she understood every ounce of his pain. He had every right to feel  _ awful _ .

She had needed only an hour, maybe two, to escape within the fairy stories of the library.  The ones with happy, or at the very least, bearable endings.  Wherever Loki was, he was  _ wrecked _ .  Shutting out the blurry images she was receiving from him, she willed her thoughts to focus instead on the image from the book in her hands of a little girl passing through a mirror and meeting a red queen.

She started at the sound of heavy boots approaching and rolled her eyes, knowing full well who had come to pay her a visit.  If it had been Loki, she never would have heard him, his steps as silent as a predator stalking its prey.  He’d both terrified and pleasantly surprised her on many occasions with that graceful stride, his arms wrapping around her from behind.

“You must be curious as to what sharp metal feels like on your throat,” she snapped, closing the leather book sharply, its pages slamming together with an audible crack.  Glaring down at her stalker from her seat atop Loki’s rafter, as she called it, the torches throughout the massive hall of books burned brighter, sparks landing on the floor below.

Eyeing the dangerous torches, Theoric spoke calmly. “I only wish to explain myself further.  I feel that our conversation on the Bifrost was left unfinished.”

“No.” She hopped down and replaced the book on the shelf. “I made myself perfectly clear.”

Sitting on a settee by the main fireplace, Theoric offered a genuine smile, unmoved by her curt words. “You told me not to come within a foot of you, which if you will note, I’ve not breached.”

_ Technicalitiesー _ Sigyn sighed, rolling her eyes as she sat in the armchair across from him.

“That may be the case, but the point remains.  I have nothing to say to you,” she said, waving her hand as though a pesky fly was buzzing around her head.  Her anger toward him had waned significantly since Loki had returned alive and uninjured, however, if that had not been the case, Theoric would be  _ roasting _ right now.  

Leaning forward, Theoric held out his hands. “I would give anything, do anything, for you, dearest Sigynㅡ”

“I most certainly am not  _ your _ dearest,” she hissed, grey green eyes flashing in the flickering light of the fire.

Breathing heavily, exasperated, he rubbed both hands down his face. “Well to  _ me _ , you are.  Do not think to tell me what  _ I _ feel.  My parents are both dead, and I’ve no siblings.  My soldiers look up to me, but they do not desire my friendship.  Sigyn, I assure you that you are the dearest person in the world to me.  It may seem rash.  Perhaps premature.  But I know how I feel.”

Rolling her eyes, she sighed. “All you could possibly know is that you find my  _ appearance _ pleasing.  You know nothing of who I truly am.  If you did, I would wager that you’d find me far less appealing.  You are nearly Odin’s highest ranking officer, commander of his finest soldiers.  You have fought many battles in the name of Asgard and come home victorious.  Your principles are solid.  You and I are nothing alike, Theoric.  I am sorry that you’ve no family,” and she meant it, “but if you continue in your pursuit of me, you will  _ never _ have one.  I will follow Loki into Hel.” She rose, tired of the conversation and retrieved the book she’d been reading before climbing back up to the rafter.  She wanted him to go.  Just...leave her be.

Theoric stood and spoke with more authorityㅡthe authority of a commanding officer. “I know you are a  _ fearless _ warrior, brave enough to go to Jotunheim, outnumbered.  I know that when you love, you love  _ passionately _ .  I know that you are fiercely loyal.  One such as you belongs in the company of the finest soldiers of Asgard.  I’ve seen your magic.  It is truly powerful.  That power could be used for  _ good _ , Sigyn.  You are not bound to whatever darkness you think resides within you.”

He’d desperately wanted her to concede to the truthㅡit was indeed truth that she could rise from darknessㅡin his words, but when she merely sighed and shook her head, he felt his stomach drop.  She’d refused him again.  What had he expected?  He kicked himself mentally.  For the sake of his own sanity, he had to cease his pursuit.  This had been his last ditch effort.  And as much as he didn’t want to believe her, it was clear that she truly would stay with Loki to the bitter end.  The dark prince had his talons in her, and she wasn’t attempting escape.

His words hit her like a ton of bricks, and tears filled her eyes.  She could be  _ good? _  What did that even mean?  What was  _ good? _  Was  _ love _ good?  Was  _ dying for love  _ good?  If not, then she was far from anything resembling  _ good _ .

She looked up from the book. “It wasn’t  _ bravery _ that lit Sif’s body on fire.  It wasn’t  _ bravery _ that set me on the path to Jotunheim.  It was love.  But it was love only for  _ Loki _ .  I would protect him with my life.  I am more sorceress than warrior, and I’ve no desire to fight in the name of Asgard.  I am not  _ good _ , Theoric.  I am a  _ murderer _ , many times over.  Do not let your boyish infatuation destroy you.”

Theoric nodded stiffly. “I'll say it one more time.  He will be the  _ death _ of you....and I will not stand by to watch.  I bid you farewell.  You shall not hear from me again concerning this matter.”

He straightened his shoulders, walking quickly to the doors where Sif had suddenly appeared.  Ignoring protocol, he didn’t bother with a proper salute and brushed past the female warrior.

Sigyn returned to reading the story that might have described her own life.  A little girl passing through a dreamworld turned nightmare.  She thought back to her life before Loki.  _ That _ Sigyn, the mischievous girl who had enjoyed swimming, climbing, playing chess, exploring Vanir delicacies at the market, flirting with suitors just to see them blush, casting small spells, was no more.  Playing with fire had died the moment she first saw Loki. There was no more  _ playing _ with fire, was there?  In truth, however, the transformation had really begun when she’d first dreamt of him.  Along with the dreams, her magic had grown, and it had been the key to her exit....to  _ Loki _ .  She was a darker version of herself now. The true version.  And like that little girl in the story, she felt there would be nothing worse than going back to normal, even if it was the practical and safe choice.  Freya had always said that Sigyn was her darkest daughter.  At the time, she’d not understood her unkind mother’s words.  She understood  _ now _ .

Sif walked to the rafter, and looking up at Sigyn, she spoke calmly. “You must be deep in thought.  My armor is, after all, very loud.” Her voice had somehow become deeper, more foreboding, since their previous conversation.

A smile that did not quite reach her eyes stretched across Sigyn’s face. “Yes, I suppose I was.  Why do you still wear it?  You are returned from battle, are you not?”

Jumping, Sif grabbed the rafter with both hands and swung over it, gracefully positioning herself across from the Vanir. “I could ask you the same.”

Sigyn shrugged. “Mine is pliable wool and leather. Yours is uncomfortable metal.” Rubbing the back of her neck, she yawned. “What do you want, Sif?” It had been an  _ exhausting _ twenty-four hours.

Sif stared at the spine of Sigyn's book. “Nothing is more fitting for your prince than that story in your hands.  Loki is not who he was this morning.”

“I know that, Sif,” Sigyn snapped unintentionally. “Do you not remember our conversation outside the healing chamber?”

Sigyn grimaced at the unkind tone she’d taken.  Yes, it had been a very long and  _ tortuous _ twenty-four hours.

Shaking her head, Sif eyed her pointedly. “No.  You knew that his skin changed, but you do not know what I just witnessed in the vault.”

Hesitantly, Sigyn leaned forward, concern creasing her forehead. “Tell me.”

* * *

“Loki?” Frigga spoke gently, kneeling by her husband’s bed, holding his hand.

Shouting at the guards to be careful with the king, her youngest son had run into Odin’s bedchamber a few minutes prior.  The corner of his mouth twitching slightly, his jaw set painfully tight, rows of teeth grinding against each other, Loki stared blankly at the man who was not his father.

Trembling with emotion, Frigga's voice raised a pitch. “Loki, please?  You  _ must _ speak to me.  I do not have your talent for reading minds.”

He raised his eyes to meet hers, emerald to azure. “I do not even know how to address you properly anymore.”

“I am your  _ mother _ , Loki,” Frigga said, her face crumpling as she choked back a sob. “I have been since the day he brought you back, the day I first  _ loved _ you.”

Her words cut him.  He looked at his chest, searching for the gaping wound, to no avail.

“Why did you lie to me?” he asked, eyebrows knitted, eyes watery. “Did you or Odin honestly think it better for me to find out like  _ this?” _

She frowned, words failing her, tears filling her eyes. “Loki...”

“I always knew that I was different.” Running a hand through his hair, he blew out a hot breath. “At the basest level, one could not, upon looking at us, see even a  _ slight _ family resemblance.  And the  _ heat _ .  I know now why Asgard is so unpleasantly warm to me.”

He ripped off his outer jacket.  What purpose did the heavy princely garb serve anymore?  Was he even still technically a prince?  He'd never felt like this before.   _ This _ was true pain.  True  _ sorrow _ .  An actual knife to the back would have hurt less.  Falling to his knees, his mind reeling, he held his head in his hands.  

Desperate to comfort himㅡwas that even possible now after what they'd done to him?!ㅡFrigga clambered to her feet and ran to him.  He swatted at her hands but gave up quickly when she refused to let go.  Protective arms holding him against her chest, she sobbed into his hair.

“We made a  _ mistake _ , dearest.”

“Mistake?” he scoffed, looking up at her, astonished by the simple word. “ _ Mistake?! _  That’s a fucking  _ huge _ mistake!”

Frigga didn’t think for a moment to correct his language.  She didn’t care.  She felt like cursing herself.  Shaking her head, she opened and closed her mouth.  What could she possibly say?

He held her gaze, emerald eyes filling with tears, and whispered, “Loki  _ Laufeyson _ .”

The name tasted horrible on his tongue. “How could you?  How  _ could _ you?” He choked on his own words.

Not letting loose her hold on her son, Frigga pulled him further into her embrace and shouted to the guards at the door. “Fetch the Lady Sigyn.   _ Now.” _

She continued to cry into his raven locks.  She'd been a fool to follow Odin's lead.  She'd wanted to tell Loki the truth once he'd reached school age, but her husband had said no. Never before had she been unable to comfort him.  Hopefully, the Vanir could do what she could not.

* * *

“Laufeyson?” Sigyn was mulling over Loki's true name, rolling it around on her tongue, her taste buds finding it bitter.

Sif had relayed the entire scene from the weapons vault before announcing that she was exhausted and had left for her chambers.  Sigyn at once both loved and hated Odin.  On one hand, if it hadn’t been for him, Loki would have died without having had the chance to live more than a few days.  But, on the other hand, the king had lied to him.  And it had been no  _ little _ lie.  Loki was the son of his mortal enemy.  Had he really meant to one day just announce to Loki that he was taking the throne of Jotunheim?  Was Loki that dispensable to him?  Had he really intended to just send him away to live on a frozen rock and rule a race he’d been raised to despise?  After believing, throughout his entire life, that he was an Asgardian prince?  

She couldn’t tell if it was her overwhelming sadness or his, but she jumped from the rafter, needing to find him.  Her hand on the door, it swung open, several guards bursting through, and she stumbled back.

“Lady Sigyn, your urgent presence is needed in the king’s chambers.”

Nodding, she ran past them, needing no escort, and bolted for the royal corridor, the sounds of their hurried footsteps attempting to catch up echoing through the hall.

* * *

The clatter of fast heels rang in Frigga’s ears, and she sighed, relief washing over her at the sight of Sigyn turning the corner, running down the hall straight for them.  Two guards, posted at Odin’s doors, spears crossed as a barrier, parted for her.

Loki looked up at the sound and seeing her, pushed to his feet in time for her to throw her arms around him. “Sig, Iㅡ”

“Don’t speak,” she said, clamping her hand over his mouth. “I already know.”

Removing her hand from his mouth, she wrapped her arms around his neck.  He nodded, his breath hitching in his chest.  Finally releasing her hold on him, she stared, horrified at the corpse-like Odin lying on his bed.

“Dear gods, is he  _ dead?” _

Loki shook his head. “It is the Odinsleep.  It is a preservation method of sorts.”

Her eyes blew wide. “How long does he need to be... _ refreshed?”   _ She’d never heard of such a thing.

Frigga spoke quietly and rose from the floor. “We do not know.  Days, months, decades, it is unknown.”

“Decades?!  Asgard cannot hold its place within the realms without its king!” Sigyn ran to the Allfather, willing him to awaken.  Despite her distaste for the old man, he had kept peace throughout the realms for millennia, and she was none too happy that he was lying down on the job, so to speak.

Frigga placed a hand on her shoulder and nodded to Loki. “Asgard has its king.”

Rhythmic steps sounded from the hall and Loki, brows raised, mouth agape, turned to see the entire Hawk guard, all two hundred of them marching toward him.  Leading the charge, Theoric held Gungnir, the mighty weapon displayed horizontally before him.  Loki turned to Frigga as the guards came to an abrupt halt at the door.  Dropping to their knees, they brought their fists over their chests and bowed their heads to him.

Solemnly, like the guards, Frigga bowed her head, gesturing for Sigyn to do the same. 

“Odin sleeps,” Frigga said, her voice strong. “Thor is banished.   _ You _ are the rightful king of Asgard, my son.”

Loki couldn’t believe his ears.  He was a  _ king _ now.  Composing himself quickly, he closed his mouth, and squaring his soldiers, he nodded to the queen and turned to face the Hawks. Their captain presented him with Gungnir, and pursing his lips, Loki closed his hands around the spear.  All he had ever wanted was to be Thor’s equal.  Being king had always been an impossible dream, one that he had been abruptly roused from earlier in the vault.  He’d never considered what actually sitting on the throne entailed because it was never to be his.  It was perhaps why, at least in part, he had played so many tricks, why he’d been so mischievous all these years.  Now holding Gungnir, though, feeling its power, as potent as the magic that flowed through his veins, he was determined to do right by his parentsㅡthe two people who he wanted to, once again, claim as his own.  

He reveled in the energy pulsing within his hands, and tongue sliding across his bottom lip, he turned slowly back to face his mother and Sigyn.  Her eyes met his, and moving the spear to one hand, he held the other out, palm up, beckoning her to come to him.

Smiling, Frigga went to Loki and hugged him. “I trust that Asgard, under your rule, is in good hands, my king. If you have need of me, I will be here at your father’s side.”

With a wave of his hand, the guards parted for him, and he pulled Sigyn through the two long rows of soldiers, Gungnir at his side.

* * *

_["Satellite(Metamorphic Downtempo Remix)" Tritonal feat. Jonathan Mendelsohn (chapter song)](https://youtu.be/sOD8rQdz0Mg?list=PL8ts83qUe2BE3q7SbLBdpPTa086gnwsvf) _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All. Hail. King. Loki.


	13. For the Love of Sigyn

 

“Lady Sif.”  Ominous and deep, the voice of Heimdall bounced off the golden interlocking gears of the Bifrost observatory.

Sif felt the floor vibrate under her boots. “Good Heimdall.”  

She peered out the opening.  Stars, comets, moons, planets, all distant lovely shapes, shone in the deep dark of space.  Beneath the observatory, the Eternal Sea roared, falling over the edge of the realm, disappearing into that deep dark.  Approaching the gatekeeper, seeing the glow of his golden eyes, she straightened her shoulders, intimidated.  It wasn’t often that she went to Heimdall with a request for his sight.

Knowing her unspoken request, he answered, eyes forward, unmoving from his post. "He is well.”

Of course he was.  Thor had always adapted quickly to any environment he was in.  Rocking from one foot to another, she nervously rubbed a smudge from her vambrance.

“I am glad to hear it.  If I may be so bold, I should very much appreciate knowing _where_ he is doing well.”  

Heimdall glanced at the female warrior before returning his eyes to the cosmos.  He’d cast his all-seeing gaze on the golden prince daily since the Allfather had banished him.  Painful as it had been to hear Thor screaming when he’d first gained consciousness after his fall to the mortal realmー _Heimdall?!  I know you can hear me!  Open the Bifrost!_ ーthe gatekeeper had kept Odin’s command.  And so he had watched.  Watched every moment Thor had spent with the humans, for it was all he could do.  

Leaving out the details of a blossoming relationship between the prince and a mortal woman, Heimdall spoke finally. “He is on Midgard.”  

Cringing, Sif scoffed. “Of all the realms within Yggdrasil the Allfather could banish him to, he chose the _mortal_ realm?”

Heimdall peered at her from the corner of his eye. “Lady Sif, there is always purpose behind the king’s actions.  You know this.  Would you have preferred him sent to Muspelheim?”

She hadn't thought of that.  Obviously, fire demons were worse than humans.  But still....

She had to stop herself from stomping her feet like a frustrated child. “Must his exile continue if the Allfather sleeps?  I know he has fallen into the Odinsleep.  I saw it myself.  Thor _must_ return!   Asgard needs a king!”

“Asgard is now under the protection of King Loki.” Looking away from her, Heimdall refocused his attention on the nine realms.

Sif felt sick as her hand went to her mouth.   _Loki?_   A frost giant was now the king of Asgard?  The ruler of the nine realms?  How could the queen allow it?  Despite her empathy for Loki in his current situation, she didn't trust him.  He’d always been jealous of Thor, to put it _lightly_ , and his status.  Not to mention that he’d stabbed her and broken her back without a care for her life in a moment of rage and was still consorting with the woman who had set her ablaze.  Sif rolled her eyes at her own adolescent refusal to just _let it go._   They’d paid the price for their actions and had battled alongside her in Jotunheim.  Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Loki shouldn’t be trusted.

“Thank you, Heimdall.” Scowling at Loki’s new title, which he’d been vying for his entire life, she jumped on her horse and rode back to the palace.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Loki rolled over and rubbed his eyes, the first light of the day streaming through the thin opening between the drawn dark green drapes.  He’d slept like the dead after fucking Sigyn a good five times the night before, and, by the norns, if it hadn’t been the _roughest_ coupling they’d had.  His hip flexors were positively  _screaming_.  He might have gotten a bit carried away, but how could he not?  She’d called him _‘your majesty,'_ for Hel's sake!  

Stretching his long body beneath the black sheets, he kissed her shoulder and pushed up from the bed, pulling on his breeches.  He couldn’t be naked when the servants arrived, after all.  Wouldn’t want them to see the _crown jewels_.  Laughing quietly to himself, he plucked her undergarments from the floor and pushed the sheets off her.  No way in Hel would he allow them to see _her_ jewels _._   

Waking with a start at the cold air, she curled into a ball, trying to warm herself. “Loki!  What are you doing?!”  She reached down, ferociously grasping the covers.

Shooing her hands away, he pulled her up. “My quarters are sure to be overrun with servants soon.  I can’t have anyone else seeing you in this state.  It is a sight for _my_ eyes alone.” Smirking, he pulled the thin garment over her head and finger combed her hair. “There.  You may now curl back up under the covers if you wish.”

Grinning, she yawned and fell back, yanking the sheets up. “Thank you, my king.”  

Eyes narrowing, he smirked. “You _must_ stop calling me that, Sig.  Unless you wish to be ravished immediately.”  He kissed her nose and walked to the drapes, pulling them aside.

Yawning again, she rolled over. “As if you would be able to perform such a task.  It’s obvious in your gait.  You are just as sore as I am.”  

Her mumbling was nearly lost in the pillow, but he heard it nonetheless and laughed quietly.  She did have a point.  Strolling to the ledge, Loki peered at what was now _his_ realm. Snow covering every surface still, Asgard shimmered white.  Its usually golden luster was still lost under the frozen blanket.  He laughed at the irony of the situation he’d fallen into. The coldest days in the history of the golden realm had come under the ruling of a frost giant.  Well, _half_ frost giant, he hoped.  It was not how he’d wanted to acquire the crown.  An official coronation ceremony would have been nice.  And perhaps a celebratory feast worthy of Volstagg’s stomach. It had been enough, though, and he couldn’t deny the joy it had brought, no matter how small and private the passing of the crown had been, to have the spear handed to him by none other than Theoric himself.  The poor bastard had looked positively devastated.  He would put him out of his misery soon enough.

Out of his periphery, Loki saw Sif astride her stallion, Þori, galloping down the Bifrost.  Sighing, he slumped his shoulders, frowning at the time consuming responsibilities of the crown.  He returned to the room, which was, as he’d foretold, now bustling with servants.  The throne could not be empty when Sif and the warriors arrived.  It was obvious she’d spoken of Thor with Heimdall.  No doubt, they would ask him to bring his brother out of exile.  They would not like his answer.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lieutenant Gylfi approached the throne with careful steps and knelt, right fist over his heart. “My king, Freya of Vanaheim requests audience with you.”

Sitting on the throne, turning from the director of mead production, Loki rolled his eyes.  Of all the people in the nine, Freya was his least favorite.  More so, even than Theoric.   At least the hawk had never harmed Sigyn.  When she had relayed to him the story of her short jaunt to her home realm during the _‘no touching’_ sentence, he’d heard two things: Freya had denied her access to her own home despite it being dark, freezing and raining, and had lied about providing the silver for Sif’s hair.  Perhaps it had been an overreaction on his part, he wasn’t exactly known for honesty himself, but he’d been ready to Bifrost his way to Vanaheim and chop off Freya’s golden hair and slice up her face so badly that none would even recognize her.  

Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, knuckles under his chin, Loki pursed his lips. “I have far more urgent affairs that require my attention.  Have a guard escort her back to the Bifrost.  Tell her _King Loki_ sends his regards.”  

Waving off Gylfi, he returned to his meeting concerning the honey shortage due to the freeze.  Nothing was more urgent than his citizens’ merriment, after all.  He chuckled at the thought.  Despite his humor, it _was_ overwhelming.  The amount of requested council bemused him.  Annoyed from being pulled in every direction, he set his jaw.  If he was to meet with the director of every single industry in the realm every single day, he feared he would resort to throwing himself off the Bifrost.  

Gylfi bowed and took his leave, exiting the throne room.  Patience wearing thin, Freya stood, scowl plastered to her face, just outside the door.  Tapping her foot, she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Well?”  

Glaring at the decidedly defiant stance she'd taken, Gylfi spoke curtly. “I regret to inform you, Mistress Freya, that King Loki is unavailable for council but sends his regards.  You are to return to Vanaheim at once.”

Hands on her hips, she fumed. “How dare he!  The Allfaーwaitーwhat did you say?   _King Loki?_  That is absurd!  What sort of evil is this?  I will see Frigga immediately!”  

Pushing past the guard, she stormed into the throne room, and seeing a green caped, golden horned man seated, legs splayed wide, on the throne, her hand went to her mouth as she whispered, “So it _is_ true....”

She had to be seeing things!  Sigyn would never escape from him now.  Not that Freya had believed for a second that her daughter wanted to escape.  She’d fallen head over heels in love with that damn prince, or king, as it was now.

On his feet instantly, Loki’s growl broke the silence that had fallen over the hall at Freya’s intrusion. “Lieutenant!  What is the meaning of this?!”   

Rushing to the throne, Gylfi, who Freya had plowed through, bowed humbly. “Your majesty, I beg your pardon.”

Rubbing his jaw underneath the cheekplates of his helmet, Loki waved his hand, exhausted suddenly. “Just get that bitch out of my sight.”

Desperate, the goddess rushed forward, bowing at the base of the dais, nervous after her serious misstep. “Your majesty, I understand that you have many other duties, but I’ve traveled such a great distance!  If it is possible, I should like to speak with my sister since you are quite overrun.”

Narrowing his eyes, the blunt end of Gungnir thudding intimidatingly on the dais, smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, he slowly descended the steps, enjoying the look of terror in the woman’s eyes.  “Have you gone _deaf_ , Freya?  You will return to Vanaheim at once.  And the queen, who I would hardly refer to as your ' _sister_ ,' is not accepting visitors in her state of grief.” Oh how he hated that wretched woman.

Stammering, she bowed lower. “May I see my daughter, at least?”

He inclined his head, considering her request.  In all likelihood, Sigyn would burn the woman alive, pissed off as she was with her pathetic excuse for a mother, relieving him of the task.  He smiled at the thought.  

“You may.  She is in the training arena.” Nodding, he continued, his words now venomous. “However, if any harm should come to her, I will scatter your parts throughout the nine."

He turned to Gylfi then. "Take her to Sigyn.  Freya is then to be promptly returned to Heimdall.”  Ascending the stairs, he returned to the throne.

Gylfi bowed. “Yes, my king.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sigyn smiled gleefully, the satisfying _thwack_ of her arrow hitting the bullseye of her burlap enemy from a distance of fifty yards.

“Did you see that, Fenrir?  Nailed it.  Like _Mjölnir_.”  Looking at the wolf sitting at her right expectantly, she raised her eyebrows. “Nothing?  Oh but that was by far one of my best puns! Come now, show me your version of a laugh.”  

He offered a quiet bark and licked her fingers as she tickled his chin. “Good enough, I suppose.”

Letting loose another arrow, the hair on the back of her neck stood up, the smell of fresh evergreen whipping through her hair.   _Vanir_ evergreen.  Anger playing across her features, she turned to see the golden fertility goddess gingerly descending the stone steps at the edge of the grounds.  Reaching behind her shoulder, Sigyn yanked another arrow from her quiver, and fixing it to the bow, she aimed it at her mother.

“Now _that_ is a real target, Fen.”   

Without hesitation, she released the the string, enjoying the _swoosh_ that echoed across the icy field.  Fenrir took off after it, catching it in his teeth right before it planted itself in Freya’s shoulder.  Slipping on the ice at the sight of the giant wolf leaping at her, Freya screamed and fell, twisting her ankle in the process.

_“By the Norns!”_   

She watched in horror, one hand clutching her throat, the other holding her hurt ankle, as Sigyn and her accompanying black smoke stalked toward her.  She scrambled to her feet despite the pain and put her hands out in front of her, palms out, genuinely terrified that her daughter might kill her.

"Sigyn!   _Please_ , Sigyn!”  

Sigyn took the arrow that Fenrir offered her, and checking that the tip was still sharp, she returned the arrow to her quiver. “You have some nerve coming to Asgard, Freya.  It is not often that a daughter genuinely wants to _kill_ her mother.”  

Body shaking from both the cold and fear, Freya's voice trembled. “Imagine the desperation it took to send me here!”

Staring daggers, her words laced with sarcasm, Sigyn's dark fiery magic churned just below the surface of her skin. “Oh dear!  Are you in need of some monetary assistance?  After all, your daughter is bedding the _king_ of Asgard.  Perhaps she has sway over his pocketbook?  Will two hundred gold pieces do?  Oh, but that is too much.  How about silver?  Will that do? Or perhaps you should like a warm bed within the golden halls of the palace?  Mine is quite comfortable, and it remains empty due to my use of the king’s bed.  Hot food?  And now that you’ve gone and slipped on the ice, maybe a change of clothes?  A trip to Eir?”  

Wringing her hands, her golden hair whipping about her face as a cold gust blew across the field, Freya pleaded. “You have every right to be angry, but I have reason to fear for your life.”

Sigyn fought the urge to kick the golden goddess in the gut. “Shut up, Freya.  Since when do you fear for my life?”  

Freya looked nervously across the empty field. “Why are there no other soldiers here?”  She would have preferred there to be witnesses.

Sigyn sighed.  She really hated the woman who stood before her and wanted her _gone_.  

“The king has decreed a grief holiday for the Allfather.  I am not of Asgard, therefore I am able to train.  Why are you here, Freya?”

Hands clasped in front of her, Freya frowned. “Please, Sigyn, I am your mother.  Call me as such.”

Turning on her heel, Sigyn made to return to her archery and shouted over her shoulder. “I am not worthy of the name Freya, if you will kindly recall!”  

Freya shook her head at her daughter’s stubbornness. “I am here because I’ve had terrible dreams of your death.  I wake screaming, Sigyn.”  

It was true.  The nightmares haunted her, and despite her distaste for her darkest daughter, she didn’t wish her dead.  Nervous, she approached the dangerous younger woman.

Sigyn rolled her eyes, readying her bow. “You do not have the gift of foresight, and I don't give a damn about your dreams.”

Freya had known it would be a pointless journey but when she’d told Nanna of her dreams, the girl had insisted that she bring Sigyn home.  Angry, the faint lines in Freya's forehead deepened in a hard scowl as she thrust her finger at her daughter.

“To think I came here on behalf of your bratty sister in order to save my most pathetic, dark, and _evil_ daughter!  You can rot here with your _bastard_ king!”  

At the word ‘ _bastard_ ,’ Sigyn gave in to her instincts and unsheathed the dagger at her thigh.  That _horrid_ word had new meaning now.  Freya had no idea of the implications, obviously, but it was the _worst_ word she could have chosen in that moment.  The sex goddess was welcome to insult her youngest all she wanted, but her cruel words toward Loki had sent Sigyn into a full blown rage.  Freya screamed, grasping at the small hand gripping the black blade that was now seated in her shoulder, blood pouring down her golden flesh.

“I _knew_ you would never come of your own volition!  Of _course_ Nanna sent you! You couldn’t give a damn about me!  Andー”  She lowered her voice, slowly twisting the blade within Freya’s shoulder. “ーLoki is the rightful king of Asgard.  Frigga said it herself when he was crowned!  Thor started a war with Jotunheim, and now Odin sleeps.  You should be thanking the Norns for Loki taking on this unfathomable responsibility and yet you curse him!  Cry for mercy, and I might spare you the humiliation of a public execution and slit your throat right now.”

Freya sobbed, not only from the agonizing pain in her shoulder, but in hopes that the sight of the tears would grant her mercy. “Are you so far gone in your obsession with the dark son that you’ve gone blind?  He is killing you, Sigyn!  Slowly, bit by bit.  And you are letting him!   Every part of you has become as black as him, and you revel in that blackness! Where is my daughter?”  

Disgusted with her own weakness at the sight of her mother’s distraught state, Sigyn wrenched her blade from Freya’s shoulder and placed her palm on the wound.  The golden goddess screamed as scorching heat traveled from her daughter’s hand through her skin and into her muscle.  Trying to pull away, Freya sobbed, trapped suddenly within a wall of burning, poisonous smoke.  Sigyn dropped her hand, eyeing the now cauterized wound and inspected her work.  Satisfied, she let the smoke cage dissipate.  At her mother’s awed expression, Sigyn smirked.  Freya had had no idea of the power that flowed through Sigyn's veins.  

“I couldn’t have you flying back to Vanaheim with a gaping wound now could I?”  She stood, Fenrir joining her once again now that the smoke was gone. “I have always been _dark_. Rather not change, but enlightenment, is what you see in me.  Leave me now.  Come, Fen!” Loki’s wolf at her feet, desiring nothing more than solitude, she ran for the forest.

Freya tested her shoulder, and finding it quite healed, returned to the waiting Gylfi at the base of the steps, and made for the Bifrost.  Clearly, her presence was unwanted.   _Goodbye, Sigyn, my lost daughter,_ she thought as she watched the rainbow bridge under her feet.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"I  _told_  you it was true!” Sif whispered harshly in Fandral’s ear as they marched forward to the throne, Fandral holding a hand to his still healing chest.

The warriors exchanged glances as they approached the new king.

Smiling widely, Loki dismissed the director of such-and-such or something-or-other and motioned Thor’s friends forward with two fingers. “I wondered when I might see my _friends_.”

Kneeling before him, the four soldiers eyed him cautiously.  Sif spoke first.  

“My king.  Do accept our condolences for your father and brother.”

Volstagg spoke quickly after, his words spilling nervously from his bearded lips. “And our congratulations, naturally, of course, on your rise to the throne, Your Majesty.”  

Loki tilted his head, the horns of his helmet casting ominous shadows in the torchlit hall as he peered at the war goddess through narrow slits of eyes.  Lips pursed, he stood slowly.  

“I thank you for your kind words, but you know that neither Thor nor the Allfather are dead.  Condolences are quite premature at this point.  Tell me, Sif, what is your purpose for this meeting?”

Swallowing loudly, suddenly nervous, she shifted her eyes between the warriors. “We come humbly asking you to pardon Thor and bring him home.”

Biting his cheeks to keep from screaming, Loki descended the steps. “I thought as much.  I’m sorry to say that my brother will stay on Midgard until the Allfather says otherwise.”

Without thinking, Sif rose to her feet, stepping toe to toe with Loki. “You can’tー” 

Her words stopped short when the sharp end of Gungnir made contact with her chest.  Loki stared daggers.  He’d never hated her more.  Here he stood, as king of the nine, and she dared to chastise him as though he were some petulant boy?  After all the trouble he’d gone through with Sigyn to restore something as insignificant as her fucking _hair?!_  Did she truly think he could just undo Odin’s last command?  That he was just jealous of Thor and didn’t want him to come home lest he lose his spot on the throne?  He wasn’t so sure in that moment that he wouldn’t actually kill the woman.

Fandral quickly grabbed Sif, pulling her back down to a penitent position. “Of course, your majesty.”

Sif yanked her arm away from her blond comrade. “If I may be so bold, my kingー”

_"You may not!_   Thor is mortal and has no place in Asgard amidst the gods.  He has no title, no power, and not even his hammer.  I will  _not_  undo the Allfather’s last command.  Understood?” Loki’s growl bounced off the stone walls, ringing in their ears.

Slowly rising, the warriors three nodded and took their leave, while Sif remained in place.  She watched Loki carefully, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears.  

“But he is your _brother.”_

Glaring, he rolled his eyes at her incessant whining.  Why did his brother like this _infuriating_ woman?  Mock sadness in his tone, he squatted to her level.  

“You worry so over a man who has given his heart to another.  Thor has found a new pet.  A mortal woman named Jane Foster.”

Sif squared her shoulders, mustering the courage to say it. “I worry more that a frost giant sits in the Allfather’s stead.”

Grabbing her by the throat, he yanked her to her feet and dragged her to the hidden space behind the dais.  Teeth clenching, body shaking with barely contained rage, he whispered angrily.  

“How the _fuck_ do you know that?”   

She willed herself to hold steady.  She refused to sob like a little child. “I saw it.  In Jotunheim.”  

Slamming his fist into the pillar at her back, he snarled, “Have you spoken of this to anyone?”

Shaking her head fiercely, she swallowed back the bile that has risen to her throat. “No!  I swear it!”

He was positively _terrifying_.  Ever since that day, when she’d nearly been killed by the man who stood before her and his dark sorceress lover, she’d felt weak in his presence.  He wielded more strength and power than she and the warriors wanted to admit.  She struggled against the long fingers gripping her neck.  

Eyeing her carefully, he eased his grip. “Good girl.  If that information becomes privy to another soul, I swear I will finish the good work I started in the arena that day.  I assure you that I would not require Sigyn’s assistance, and you would lose a great deal more than your _hair.”_

Ashamed at her cowardice, she cried. “I will go, if I am still free to do so.”

Eyes narrowing, he hesitated before nodding. “You may.”  

He watched, seething, as she retreated down the aisle to the exit, not turning her back to him.  Once she had disappeared from his sight, he announced his retirement for the day, barking at the soldiers to keep their posts and change guards at the usual hours.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

Pacing across his balcony in his informal leather leggings and tunic, he ran a hand through his hair.  Sif knew of his true parentage.  She wouldn’t dare tell anyone.  He’d made sure of that.  Of all the sentient beings in the nine, _she_ knew he didn’t make empty threats.  More than ever, he needed to prove his allegiance to Asgard.  He couldn’t have his citizens suspicious of him like Sif.  It wasn’t as if he’d _stolen_ the throne, but she seemed to think he had done just that.  Wracking his brain for a praiseworthy act to gain their trust, he ran his hand along the ledge as he walked, painfully aware of the guards below who were casting nervous glances at him.  Inspiring fear was not his goal, but he _did_ need to show strength and courage since the peace treaty with Laufey had been shattered.  He needed to rebuild that peace, somehow, because sending thousands of soldiers to their deaths was a terrible way to start one’s reign.  But how?  

His musings ceased when he realized the moons had been shining for an hour at least, and Sigyn was still gone.  He returned to his chambers, nervously looking around the empty space.  Rushing through the washroom, dressing room, bedchamber, and antechamber, he opened his mind to her, tapping into their bond.  Sifting through the garbage of the day, he drained his memory of industry directors and idiotic warriors and Thor.  Finally, he found her deep in the heart of Asgard’s forest.  The bond working its magic, he felt her desire to return home.  To return to Vanaheim, despite her having renounced it, claiming that Asgard was her home now...that Loki was her home.  There was only one thing that could possibly make her think like that, and he knew exactly what it was....and it would kill her.  

Panicking silently, terrified, he grabbed his long leather jacket and yanked his boots on, yelling for the guards.  Throwing his chamber doors open, he ran for the stables.  

“Muster the Hawks and prepare Sinir!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sigyn cursed her mother silently for the rotten mood that had befallen her.  She’d been having a really good day, too.  Waking from the best sleep of her life.  Spending the morning reading, practicing spells, laughing at Loki’s annoyance with his new subjects.  The silent snide comments he’d made had had her turning blue in the face.  Then she’d had the arena all to herself, shooting arrows, laying waste to her targets, and all the while her new ever present protector, Fenrir, had been with her.  She’d thought it odd at first, that Loki wanted his wolf to watch over her in his stead due to his new schedule, as though she couldn’t take care of herself, but his concern had been flattering, and she’d found the animal’s company comforting and had bonded rather quickly with him.

Petting his head as they trudged through the snow laden forest, she peered up, blinking at the cold frozen drops falling through the trees.  She loved Asgard’s moons.  They were so much more brilliant than Vanaheim’s.  Or maybe they weren’t, and she’d just fallen under the dark spell of the realm eternal that went by the name Loki.  No.  There was no spell. She'd genuinely fallen for him.  No magic necessary.  Thinking of her childhood home had always made her homesick, but she was so far gone in her obsession, just as Freya had said, with the dark king that the thought of having the vast expanse of space between them had her on her knees, overwhelmed by waves of nausea.  

Fenrir nuzzling her neck, she looked up, furrowing her brow at a strange sight straight ahead.  A hole in a boulder, perhaps ten feet across and ten feet tall, had been frozen over. Not the entire rock, just the hole.  She knew it was the Jotunheim portal.  She'd seen it in Loki's mind.  Walking to it, she peered into the ice, seeing nothing.  Smoke billowing from the tip of her finger, she touched it, and the ice melting under her touch, she put her eye to the opening.  Jotunheim shimmered on the other end of a prismatic cave, bending and unbending with the strange physics of the portal.  Shivering as the tiny hole iced back over, she stepped back.

“You know that’s where your daddy’s from, Fen?”  She teased, continuing her trek through the trees.  

“Foliage in Asgard dies every Sólstöður, doesn’t it?  The trees are barren, unlike Vanaheim.  Trees are always green there, Fen.  Thusly, the term Evergreen.”  

She paused upon seeing an _actual_ evergreen...in _Asgard_.  Well, that was odd.

It stood proud, though smaller than the huge two hundred foot leafless ash trees surrounding it.  It was a magnet, pulling her closer and closer to its healthy reddish brown bark, the dark green needles whistling in the frozen wind.  Watching as it altered itself, she continued, hypnotized by its beauty.  This was not a tree.  No.  This was another portal.  To _Vanaheim_.  Fenrir anxiously bounded to the trunk that pulsed against the air molecules surrounding it.  Reaching forward, the illusion shattered under her hand and before her, within the tree, was a prismatic path akin to the frozen rock portal.  Smile playing at the corners of her mouth, she cautiously put a foot in, the wolf barking, biting her dress, pulling her back.

“It’s Vanaheim, Fen.  Follow me.  It’s so beautiful.”  

All thoughts of Asgard faded in an instant, the enchanting tree seemingly casting a spell over her.  There was nothing she wanted more in the nineー _not even Loki_ ーother than to sit on her high perch and hear the roar of the great waterfall tumbling down the cliff.  Without another word, paying no attention to the sound of hooves pounding through the maze of trees behind her, she pushed through the tree’s strange substance.  With no choiceーLoki had ordered him to protect her at all costsーFenrir ran after her, his howl echoing through the forest.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hearing his wolf’s scared voice, Loki kicked Sinir into a full gallop, knowing then where he would find her.  Speeding to the deadly Vanaheim portal he’d found long ago, he looked through the pulsing tree.  

After the great Æsir-Vanir War, now seven hundred years past, when Odin had defeated King Sveigðir’s army, they’d signed a peace treaty and had formed an alliance.  In response to what the Vanir thought was an absolute travesty, a thousand strong militia had formed and had either discovered or created the portalーhe knew not which or howーand had charged into Asgard.  Not even Heimdall with his all-sight had seen where they’d come from.  Loki had seen it, though.  He’d been only two hundred years old at the time, practicing magic in the solitude of the trees when the Vanir had stormed into the forest.  Hiding in the shadows, he’d watched the Crimson Hawks defeat the Vanir militia and, to that day, they remained imprisoned in the dungeons of Asgard.  Full of rage over the attack on his home, Loki had gone to his chambers, prepared a death enchantment, and had returned to the tree.  If a Vanir should venture through it, he would see a Valhalla worthy illusion of his home realm through the portal, and the spell would set him in a death trance.  He would long to return and give his life for his beloved home, and give it painfully.  Loki, having been a very young Seiður at the time, had been careless with the spell.  He’d meant for it to hold any future Vanir threats at bay, pulling them back immediately if they’d found their way through.  Unfortunately, the spell worked on both sides of the tree as well as on any Vanir, non-threatening ones as well, who came near the tree.  He’d not considered the possibility that he might one day fall in love with a Vanir woman nor that she might discover the portal. Fenrir knew the tree well.  Loki had shown it to him once.  The wolf’s warning howl had pierced his heart as surely as Sigyn’s black dagger would.  He could clearly see Fenrir and Sigyn on the other side, climbing a cliff.

He screamed after her, though he knew she couldn’t hear him in her trance.  _“SIGYN!!"_

_She’s going to jump from that cliff!  She is going to jump off that fucking cliff!_

Sinir grunted and neighed underneath Loki’s tightening grip on the reins, pacing back and forth anxiously, while his master panicked at the sight of his only reason for living nearing the high peak.  He would not lose her.  Without hesitation, he kicked Sinir back into a full gallop through the portal.  He couldn’t rule Asgard without her.  He’d meant to make her his queen.  And he would bring her back alive, even if he had to go through _Hel_ first.

 

* * *

_["Tornado Warning" Hammock, Instrumental (chapter song)](https://youtu.be/_OCWiRV25Og?list=PL8ts83qUe2BE3q7SbLBdpPTa086gnwsvf) _


	14. This Happy Death

 

Sigyn swung her feet over the edge of the two hundred feet high peak. “This is and always has been my cliff, Fen.  It is the most beautiful place in the nine, don’t you think?  Look at the falls.  Look at the colors in the mist.  They put the rainbow bridge to shame.”  

The wolf nudged her shoulder, whining.  

Rubbing under her protector’s chin, she continued gazing at the water. “Scared of heights, are you?”

From her spot on the cliff, she could still see her childhood dwelling.  The house had been full of similar women, heads butting constantly, and thusly it had been as disastrous as the most tumultuous tempest.  Freya had been a terrible mother, her incessant sexual conquests taking her from the girls.  Sigyn’s sisters had raised her, and since she was the youngest, she’d gotten away with everything.  It wouldn’t have taken the sharpest knife in the drawer to foretell that she would fall for the god of mischief.  And fall _hard_.  She hadn’t missed Vanaheim since her first magic lesson with Frigga.  In truth, the moment she’d laid eyes on Loki, she’d all but forgotten that the evergreen realm even existed.  

Yet now sitting in her old hiding spot, far away from the new king of Asgard, she _didn’t_ miss him.  All she wanted was to stay in this spot, on this cliff forever.  Actually, that wasn’t true.  She didn’t want to stay in this spot.  She wanted to be at the bottom of the falls.  Furrowing her brow, confused at her sudden suicidal thoughts, she glanced at Fenrir.  He had a death grip on her dress with his teeth, as if he knew her thoughts.  Why the Hel did she have the urge to hurl herself over the edge?!  She would never see him again!  The man that she was so desperately in love with would be gone from her forever!  Like being hit, however, out of nowhere, with a ton of apathetic bricks, she felt _nothing_ for Loki.  Having bound herself so tightly to him, did she therefore feel nothing for herself?  No.  It couldn’t be that at all.  She loved herself, didn’t she?

She wrinkled her nose, suddenly overwhelmed with love for Vanaheim of all thingsーthe home that she had disowned.  The home that had _disowned her._   Yet somehow all she could think was that it was the most perfect place in the nine and that she wanted to die in this perfect happy place, never to feel pain again....and Loki _was_ pain.  So then why continue living with that pain?  He’d never even said he loved her.  She’d assumed he did, but he’d never expressly _said_ it.  Fuck it.  At this point, what the Hel did it matter?  He probably wouldn’t even miss her.  She felt happy here, and she wanted to _die_ happily.  She didn’t want to be immortal anymore.  Living forever meant that time was nonexistent.  Age was insignificant.  She was nine hundred years old, but she had no less time to live than she had had at her birth.  Loki was pain.  Neverending pain.  Beautiful, immortal pain.  He was ice, and she had been fire.  He had been destined to snuff her out.  She’d thought she could melt that ice, but he was just killing her.  He’d turned her cold, and the fire magic in her veins wasn’t enough to warm her anymore.  She'd become a frigid immortal.  Just like Loki. It could all end right now.  At this happy moment, she could end it.  Her mind seemed to cave in on any rational thoughts and replaced those thoughts with the darkest visions she’d ever seen.  

But surely they weren’t actual visions.  She hadn’t been given the gift of foresight.  These were things that hadn’t happened and couldn’t happen.  They couldn’t happen because they were too horrible.  Unbearable.  What Hel was she seeing before her eyes?  She screamed out loud, her voice ripping from her throat painfully.

_Why was Loki hanging from the Bifrost?!  And by the gods, no!ーhe’d fallen!_  

Sigyn rubbed her eyes furiously trying to force them to see only her physical surroundings, but it was to no avail.  

_He was naked and alone in a sterile room with no light.  His once beautiful hair was too long and tangled.  He was emaciated.  Strange alien beings were stripping him, burning him!_ _And thenーwas he on Midgard?  What was wrong with him?  Emerald eyes had turned unnatural blue, and was he killing mortals?_

She sobbed into her hands, Fenrir tugging furiously at her skirts.  Shaking her head, the images continued.  

_He was back in a cell now, well furnished and clothed at least.  Was she seeing him in the dungeons of Asgard?  He was crying, and Asgard was on fire.  He was on fire!_

She really would jump now.  It was too much.  She was happy here.  Her home, her cliff, her waterfall.  

_Loki is pain._

It was her mantra, repeating it until she was blue in the face.  

_Loki is pain.  Loki is killing you.  Loki doesn’t love you.  You are happy here.  Just get on with it.  Don’t go back to him.  It’ll be over soon._

She stood to her feet, Fenrir howling and looking around, searching for something or _someone_.  Peering over the falls, she hesitated.  The pressure at the bottom would most likely rip her apart.  Cringing she turned her back to the edge.  She didn’t want to see the impact.

Out of the enchanted tree, at the base of the cliff, she saw Loki astride Sinir, his black hair whipping about his face as he rode full speed up the mountain yelling at her.  She couldn't make out what he was saying over the roar of the falls behind her though it sounded something akin to  _‘stay with me!’_   

None of it mattered.  Freya had been right.  Nanna had been right.  Iwaldi had been right.  Loki was killing her slowly, and this happy death was going to save her by putting her out of her dark intertwined misery with him.  Leaning back, vaguely hearing Loki’s roar of _‘no!!',_  Fenrir growled and caught her wrist in his teeth painfully as she fell.

She screamed, his fangs ripping through her flesh and digging into the bone.  _“Ahh, gods, stop!!”_   

Blood pouring down her arm, her legs dangling beneath her, she looked down.  As though she’d been lifted from a trance, she realized she’d just jumped off a cliff and was about to end her life, in a most brutal way.  

_Oh gods, I don’t want to die!_  

She could hear Loki then.  She could feel him again, the bond returning suddenly.  Why had she jumped?  She _loved_ him.  And, by the Norns, did he love her.  He was _screaming_ it in his thoughts.  What the Hel had happened?  Vanaheim wasn’t happy.  It had been mostly cruel to her, and she didn’t want it.  She wanted the raven haired man who’d just appeared at the top of the cliff behind his wolf.  He wasn’t pain.  He was _Loki_ , and he was the only thing in the entire universe that she wanted.

“Sig, love, no, just _hold on!”_   Panicking, he dismounted just as Fenrir lost his death grip, her wrist whittling away with nothing for him to bite into.

As though time, nonexistent as it was, had slowed to complete stillness, where only she and Loki existed in their darkness, she watched, terrified as his face became lost in the freezing mist that was quickly enveloping her small body.  How could she undo this?!  

_I can’t._  

The answer was the _worst_ thing in the nine.  She’d just ended her life and, possibly, Loki’s.  He’d called her _‘love.’_  He’d actually _voiced_ it.  At least she knew for certain that he really did love her.  Honestly, though, that made everything so much _worse_.  Crying out in sheer agony, the falls tumbled over her.

Eyes blown wide, Loki screamed after her.  _“SIGYN!!”_   

Without a moment’s hesitation, he jumped after her.  If she was going to fall, _then by Hel_ , he would be there to catch her.

  
  
 

* * *

_["You Found Me" Sublab & Azaleh (chapter song)](https://youtu.be/T_qB7yvcwRQ?list=PL8ts83qUe2BE3q7SbLBdpPTa086gnwsvf) _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, folks. See you in Part II of this series.


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